


Broken Oaths

by rook_fern



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Character, Hurt/Comfort, Living World Episode: s05e01 Whisper in the Dark, Living World Episode: s05e02 Shadow in the Ice, Living World Episode: s05e03 No Quarter, Living World Episode: s05e04 Jormag Rising, Nonbinary Character, Other, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 68,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21857089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rook_fern/pseuds/rook_fern
Summary: Glaw has a few problems. One, they don't remember anything. Two, the thing that stole their memories is an Elder Dragon who whispers life advice in their ear. Three, said dragon wants them to kill the most powerful person in Tyria: the Pact Commander.
Relationships: Braham Eirsson/Original Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Glaw is a nonbinary and genderfluid character who goes by he/she/they pronouns. Typically, I will use they for them when referring to them in passing. In the story, it will shift depending on what feels right for the flow of the narrative.
> 
> Commander Rook is my gracious Pact Commander, a sylvari ranger, whom deserves much better than what I put her through.

Glaw hunkered down deeper into his saddle, putting his back to the blustering winds. Jormag was getting more lively. The whispers which had once been cobwebs in his head were getting more insistent. Jormag was promising things: his life back. Memories. Whatever lost time had been stolen from him. He would be given back everything that was taken from him, and Jormag would take back what was given. His frostbitten limbs throbbed at the thought.

The deal seemed more like a hostage situation, and Glaw had been teetering on the edge of giving in for a while now. He had once been someone good. Someone with stories of grandeur; a worthy norn. That much, he knew. He could feel it in his bones, however cold they might be growing. That was a had been, though. He didn’t know who he was now. He hadn’t since he had come to on a frozen cliffside a few weeks ago. Then, there had been no one except Jormag and that sickly sweet deal whispering in his ear.

Jormag had lead him to shelter among the Sons of Svanir, convinced them not to kill him. Fed him. Clothed him. Warmed him -- to an extent. The icy claws that bore into his right side were an ever-present reminder of the Dragon’s hold. Jormag told him they were a gift. They did amplify his ice magic tenfold, but at the mere thought of warmth, the deadened flesh ached.

His mount beneath him shuddered and huffed against the cold. Frigg was yet another mystery; the skyscale had come to him one day, treating him like an old friend. She had bowled him over on their first meeting and refused to leave his side, even when the blizzards became too much for a scaled beast.

Glaw patted her neck with a murmur. “Just a little farther, love.”

He craned his neck and peered into the eye-watering wind. The glittering of a campfire stood out against the stark snow. It was a small trading camp, set up just outside the local keep. Apparently, someone important was arriving soon. Someone the Dragon wanted dead. Desperately.

_ ‘Good,’ _ the voice crooned as the fire came into sight.  _ ‘Gain their trust. They can help us. Help you. You need friends, companions.’ _

Doubt welled in Glaw’s chest, but he nudged Frigg into a faster pace. Jormag was right, though. He had no companions among the Sons of Svanir. He was an outsider. He wasn’t even a proper man in their eyes. He only lived among them by the Dragon’s blessing.

He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and roused his frozen tongue in his mouth. The camp was within earshot, and the merchants were eyeing him with unease. There were rumors circulating of a terrifying creature preying on those who weren’t wary.

“I’m seeking supplies. I heard you might have some.” He called out.

One of the merchants narrowed her eyes. “Heard from who?”

Glaw swallowed again. The only people in this region were enemies to innocent folk. Svanir, fallen kodan and haunting spirits. “Friends,” he fibbed lamely.

The merchant’s suspicious expression didn’t waver, but she waved Glaw closer. “What sort of supplies are you needing?”

Glaw slid off of Frigg’s back. His boots buried themselves deep in the snow, and a chill settled into his toes. “Food, mostly. Furs if you have them.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Furs didn’t last long out in the forest and frozen gorges. They were easily lost or muddied beyond recognition. Food was also in short supply, as always. A simple purchase was all he needed; he just needed them to trust him.

The merchant’s eyes lightened a touch, and she jerked her head towards her companion. “Balur’s got the furs and perishables. Talk to me if you want weapons and such.”

Glaw dipped his head in thanks and stepped past her. The blaze of a hearty fire greeted him. He settled back into his skin a little as the cold sloughed off of him. A dull ache took up residence in his frostbitten side, but the pain was familiar. Hopefully, the merchants wouldn’t notice how tightly bound in leathers and furs the skin was. He didn’t need questions about the glistening of ice buried in his arm.

“Balur?” He asked as he approached a man whittling away at a pine shaft.

The man looked up, his face just as wary as his companion’s had been. “Aye?”

“Your friend said you sell furs and food. I’m looking to buy some supplies.”

Balur raked his gaze up and down Glaw’s form. Glaw straightened a little, raising his chin in challenge. The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Balur, but he slowly nodded and rose.

“We didn’t think there were too many good folks out in this area. We’ve only set up ‘cause we’ve heard the Pact is rolling in soon, and they’re always needing supplies.”

“So I’ve heard too.” Glaw followed Balur into one of the tents. “You’ve dealt with the Pact before?”

Balur hummed in agreement. He began stacking furs on a crate. “They’ve gotten more active up here lately; business is good with them, even though bloodshed seems to follow them like a shadow.” He heaved a long sigh and pointed to the pile of furs. “Silver a piece, twenty five for the whole stack.”

“I’ll take ten.” Glaw said. He fished out ten silver coins and placed them into Balur’s palm. The man flicked through them before accepting them as genuine. He counted out ten of the furs and handed them to Glaw.

“You after anything in particular?”

Glaw stopped cold, the nape of his neck tingling. “Sorry?” He asked roughly.

“Food, you want anything in particular?”

“Oh.” He coughed and flicked his hand vaguely. “Any grain and fruit, if you’ve got them.”

Balur eyed him again. “Norn like yourself not asking after the freshest cut of meat?”

The remaining nervousness leached out of Glaw. He huffed a laugh. “That’s about the only type of food you can get around here. I’m looking for something a little different.”

Balur turned with a shrug. “It’ll cost a little more; like you said, food like that’s hard to come by around these parts.”

“I can pay.”

“Mm…” Balur hummed noncommittally. He returned with a hefty sack slung over his shoulder. “Gendarran wheat and some Queensdale apples. None too fresh after the journey, but it’s what we’ve got.”

“I’ll take them, thanks.” He shelled out the coins and accepted the sack. The price was high, but he could pay. They didn’t get many travelers up in Bjora’s Marches for a reason; the Svanir usually robbed and pillaged anyone stupid enough to come close. It made for rich pockets in their circles.

He followed Balur back out of the tent, but before he made it back to Frigg, he turned on his heel. Balur and the other merchant watched him with lidded curiosity.

“Might I…” Glaw shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Stay a while? The storm’s blowing in heavy, and I don’t think Frigg will fair too well once it starts snowing. I’ll be out of your hair once the storm passes--”

The merchant woman cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Get you and your beast over here. We’ll stoke the fire.”

Glaw swallowed down his other words and nodded. He grabbed Frigg’s reins and tugged her closer to the fire. She huffed against his hair but followed. Her nose was quick to find the sack he also held, but once she found there was no treats for her in it, she gave a low rumble of discontent. Glaw laughed softly and patted her horned snout. “Nope, nothing for you, love. Sorry.”

Frigg settled beside the fire and Glaw leaned against her scaled hide. He slung the furs over her neck and tacked the sack of food to the saddle. Looking back up, he met Balur’s gaze. The man looked between him and the skyscale.

“I’ve not seen a beast like that before. What is it?”

“A skyscale.” At least, that was what Jormag had told him. “I--she’s my friend.”

“Odd friend to have. Is she like a dragon?”

Glaw absently ran his hand down Frigg’s flank. The warm scales rose and fell under his touch as she breathed. “Mm, a little.”

She might have been a dragon, but he would never know. Jormag had given him what she was and her name. Where she came from and how he came to befriend her, he had no idea.

Silence reigned between them for a few moments with only the shrieks of the wind saying anything. Glaw scrounged for scraps to keep the conversation from dying. “Where are you two from? Far off?” He finally asked.

Balur and his companion shared a look. “I’m from Hoelbrak, taking up my family’s business. Nelena’s from further south, a small village in the Timberline.” Balur said.

Glaw nodded. Both were norn. He might have even seen them before, in whatever past life he led; neither seemed to recognize him, though.

“Yourself?”

Glaw backpedaled furiously, jerking his head up. He couldn’t give away that he didn’t know his own life’s story, much less where he was from. He racked his brain. No reasonable soul would raise a family in Bjora’s Marches, and Grothmar wasn’t too friendly to outsiders. His world view was limited beyond that; Jormag hadn’t told him what laid beyond the southern mountains. “Ho-Hoelbrak. I’m from Hoelbrak, too.” He lied.

Balur lit up. “Really? I might have seen your face before.” He squinted hard. “Y’know, you do look sort of familiar.”

Something flipped in the pit of Glaw’s stomach. Whether it was excitement or fear, he couldn’t tell. Probably both. “Oh… Well, I-I haven’t been there in a while.”

Balur scrutinized him a moment more before nodding. “Aye, neither have I.”

The amicable hum between them stretched thin into watery silence. Nelena cleared her throat and poked at the fire. Ash and embers leapt into the air with a hiss. “Where will the winds drag you after this?” She asked.

Another shiver of unease crept up Glaw’s spine. He stilled his hand on Frigg’s hide. It was a simple question wanting a simple answer, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to what would become of him when he fulfilled Jormag’s wishes--or Jormag got tired of him.

His voice stuck a little when he answered. ‘I’m not sure.”

Nelena seemed to take the response without question, returning her attention to poking at the coals. The empty silence returned, and Glaw rummaged through the sack of apples to distract himself from the whispering of the wind in his ears. His cold fingers closed around the skin of a wrinkled apple.

He pulled it free of the sack, and after Frigg deemed it uninteresting--not without a dozen wet sniffs--he sank his teeth into it. Despite its shriveled state, the fruit was sweet. Far more flavorful than the deer and rabbit meat Glaw had been living on for the past few weeks. Absently, he wondered if this was his first time eating an apple. Unlikely. They weren’t that rare, even in the northern reaches.

As he took another bite of the fruit, he sank down against Frigg’s hide until he was nestled in the curve of her belly. A slight layer of snow soaked into his trousers, but the warmth of Frigg’s scales balanced out the cold. When he looked up, he found Nelena eyeing him again with a critical stare. He held it for two heartbeats before dropping his gaze to the blazing fire. Frigg drew in a rumbling breath and shoved her nose under the curve of Glaw’s knee. Her breath misted the air with gentle puffs of white.

A weighty drowsiness settled into Glaw’s bones. The fire danced in mesmerizing colors of reds and yellows, furiously dazzling against the blanket of snow and ice. He felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy and his head begin to bow. He didn’t mind the encroaching sleepiness, for once. Since living with the Svanir, this was the first time he felt safe enough to let his guard down a tad. Jormag had been right. Companionship was good for him.

A boot against his thigh nudged him awake. He sat upright with a sharp intake of breath, tension coiling in his stomach. Frost gathered at his fingertips, sending lancing, aching pains up the length of his frostbitten arm.

“Whoa, kid.” Balur’s deep tone came from his left.

Glaw swiped the sleep from his eyes and squinted up at Balur’s hulking form. A halo of daylight surround him, the sky clear of clouds.

“Shit…” Glaw hissed and scrambled to his feet. Frigg awoke, too, with a huffy whine. Now standing, Glaw turned to Balur; he raked chilled fingers through his mussed hair. “I--I didn’t mean to doze off. I’ve overstayed my welcome; I’ll leave you two be. Sorry.”

He started to rouse Frigg into a standing position, snatching the apple sack from the ground. A hand on his shoulder stopped him; he tensed.

“Calm down. From the way you conked out, I’d say you needed it. Wasn’t no harm done.”

Glaw stilled and swallowed. Slowly, he nodded. “Right.”

The last dredges of sleep finally falling free from his mind, he swept his gaze around the little campsite. A fresh layer of snow dusted everything, even himself and Frigg’s back. The fire was down to smoldering coals, just drawing a lazy swirl of smoke in the air. He couldn’t spot Nelena anywhere, but one of the tent flaps was drawn down.

His eye wandered past the ridge they stood onto the cold stone keep beyond it. Smoke was rising from inside the walls.

Balur followed his gaze and stroked a hand down his beard. “Pact arrived early this morning. I’ve seen a few of their people scouting around. Heard even the illustrious Commander is among them.”

Cold shot through Glaw’s side like a knife at the title; bitterness flooded his tongue, tasting like fury and the palest hint of fear. A whispering tongue brushed his ears.  _ ‘Her.’ _

_ ‘Kill her.’ _


	2. Chapter 2

Glaw ended up saying goodbye to the pair of merchants as the sun reached its zenith in the sky. He hauled himself onto Frigg’s back and twisted in his seat to look back at the two. Balur offered a wave, which Glaw returned, and Nelena stood stoically beside him.

Balur had taken to him in the time between waking and leaving; the man hadn’t been eager to let him ride off alone again, and he bid Glaw safe travels as he packed Frigg’s saddle bags. Even Nelena had warmed to him a bit, her expression shifting from icy to neutral in the sun’s warmth.

 _‘Befriend them,’_ Jormag had said. Glaw wasn’t entirely sure what friendship entailed, but he thought he had achieved companionship with the merchants at least. He settled his shoulders and turned back towards his destination: Jora’s Keep. The smoke had grown stronger, and he was able to pick out small forms milling around the keep’s parapets.

All the while he had been chattering on with Balur and Nelena, Jormag had been whispering new instructions in his ears. _Befriend the Pact as you did the merchants; get in their good graces. Then strike. Kill her: the Pact Commander._ After that, Jormag promised rest and release from his servitude. Relief. 

Part of Glaw balked at the idea of senseless murder; another part of him sagged in desperate relief at the idea of finally being free after weeks of being at the Dragon’s bidding. Free from the whispers. That feeling had been quick to quash the hesitation about spilling blood. He’d only dig himself a deeper grave if he continued to think about it.

He clicked his tongue to Frigg and she took to the air. Cold wind bit at his skin and icy crystals clung to the fabric of his clothes. The stone walls of the keep drew closer, and as the details came into view, he saw various soldiers dressed in too-thin armor scrambling for their weapons. If Jormag was afraid of an army this unprepared, perhaps the Dragon wasn’t as strong as they claimed. Glaw slowly raised a hand in greeting and nudged Frigg into a downward dive. The skyscale landed with a flurry of upturned snow. As soon as Glaw slide off her scaled back, he had weapons pushed at his face.

He swallowed and raised both hands in disarming surrender. “I’m not your enemy.” A lie. A lie that slipped so smoothly off his tongue. “I’m looking for the Pact Commander. I heard she was here.”

“Stand down, kids.”

Glaw jerked his head up to see a woman draped in green and black approaching. She wore a thin smile, although it bordered on sour. Reluctantly, the company of soldiers relaxed.

“The Commander’s not here right now.” She addressed Glaw, her eyes piercing him with a dagger-like stare.

He resisted the urge to squirm; instead, he squared his shoulders and jutted out his chin. “Who are you?”

The woman studied him intently before huffing a quiet sigh. “Marjory Delaqua.” She finally answered before reiterating, “the Commander’s not here right now.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“What do you want with the Commander?” Jory arched an eyebrow.

“I have…” Glaw paused mid-thought, sucking in a breath, “information I think she’ll appreciate.”

Jory gave him another look, the suspicion never leaving her gaze. She waved a hand towards the keep. “She’ll be back soon. You can stay here for now.”

Glaw nodded, and Jory made another quick motion with her hand. The soldiers still surrounding Glaw gripped their weapons a little tighter, and he found himself being herded through the keep’s entrance.

Time dripped by with the melting of the snow on the banisters. Glaw watched another droplet slide off the stone and spatter into the dappled slush below. He shifted in his spot where he’d been sat for an hour too many. His joints were locked from disuse, and the abrupt movement had his spine crackling in protest. He stretched slowly and shuffled his feet. His armed company had dwindled down to just two guards, both of whom seemed as uncomfortable as he did.

Every so often, someone would enter the keep with a look of panic on their face. They would disappear and sometimes reappear with someone else following them. Often, they would pause mid step and mutter to the thin air. Glaw had an inkling that Jormag was whispering to them as well.

Frigg snuffled grumpily by his side and flicked her tail. If Glaw had been uncomfortable, Frigg was downright miserable. The nearest bonfire was a few feet away and its warmth was absent. Frigg’s scales were cold, and a shiver ran down the length of her body. Glaw patted her flank. “Sorry, girl.”

He sighed and leaned back in the hopes to alleviate the pressure on his back. His gaze wandered back to the blazing fire just out of reach. The flames licked towards the sky, snapping against the chill. The fluid movement mesmerized him, and he found his attention lulling.

He snapped to focus when clamoring arose from the gate. A tall norn entered first, his expression wavering between distraught and anger. Another norn followed him, smaller in comparison, although she carried herself with similar power despite the fact that she was obviously injured. Bloodstained cloth hung from her bruised wrists, and scrapes mottled her once-pretty face. A few Pact soldiers trailed the pair, chattering amongst themselves with straying glances. A small figure brought up the rear, her steps dragging and slow. She was a creature Glaw hadn’t seen before, her face striped like the trunk of a tree and her skin more wooden than flesh.

The attention her presence drew was another story, though. As soon as she entered the keep, almost every eye was on her. A charr who had been lingering nearby stepped forward, but he stopped when the strange figure gave her head a shake.

“On your feet, stranger.”

Glaw jumped when a quiet voice spoke next to his ear. Jory had her face two inches from his, a small smirk on her lips. She looked up at the entering procession. “You get to have your audience with the Commander. Let’s go.”

Glaw followed her gaze back to the strange figure.

The strange figure turned out to be the Commander, who also happened to be something known as a sylvari. Commander Rook took all of Glaw’s questions in stride, although the tiredness never left her eyes.

Jory had brought him into the keep’s barracks which were serving as a makeshift office. The interior was warm from a crackling fireplace. Frigg was too large to fit inside the building, but the Commander had seen the skyscale with a softened gaze and had the grace to have her placed in the much warmer stables between the dolyak.

Glaw shifted his weight to his other foot and rubbed his hands together. Despite the warmth of the room and the chill in his bones, he stayed away from the fireplace. A dull ache was gripping his frostbitten limbs, heightened by the blaze. Jormag was restless.

Their introductions finally aside, Rook leaned against the central desk and eyed Glaw. “Right. Jory says you have some information that can help us.”

Glaw nodded and swept his gaze across the gathered crowd. Before them, he felt quite small despite his norn-blood stature. Jory was hovering in the back with her arms crossed tightly. The two norn from before were present too, as well as a pair of war-hardened charr.

“You’re here for Jormag, aren’t you?” Glaw began. The room seemed to get a little chillier at the Dragon’s name.

Rook shared a glance with her companions before nodding. “Jormag’s taken some of our friends. We want them back.”

There was an unspoken malice lingering from the Commander between those words.

A small whisper arose from the back of Glaw’s mind. _‘Dragon killer.’_ It hissed. Jormag’s tone sent a chill down Glaw’s spine; this was the first time he had heard Jormag lose their cool.

His audience stared him down, confused by his silence. He swallowed and pushed the whisper aside. A small pit opened in the bottom of his stomach; he was gambling here.

He settled his face and met Rook’s gaze. “I know Jormag.”

Ice prickled along his frozen arm, sinking aching fangs into the flesh. He pulled in a breath through his nose, pushing the ache aside.

“Know Jormag how?”

Glaw rolled his jaw. “I’ve gotten into their good graces.”

Another glance was exchanged.

“The Svanir have accepted me.”

“How?”

Glaw rubbed at his aching knuckles. “They’re--” A lance of pain shot up the length of his arm, making him grit his teeth. He fought to keep his face neutral. A puff of breath through his nose.

Try again.

“I’ve helped the Dragon, and they made the Svanir accept me.” A lie. He’d done nothing to help Jormag. Not yet. This utterance brought him no pain, though. If anything, the sharp cold lessened. He could breathe a little easier now.

“So why help us?” Now, Rook’s tone was sharp with accusation and mistrust.

Glaw eyed her. Her amber eyes were clouded despite the bite of her voice. Jormag.

The Dragon never made anything easy.

“I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie; a half-truth, built on lies, really. “I want freedom.”

Rook’s lip twitched, but the lines of her face relaxed. “What can you tell us?”

Although it was just a meeting, it felt more like an interrogation to Glaw. With the snapping and popping of the fire to his left and the ever-suspicious gaze to his right, he felt more trapped than he had under the Dragon’s claw.

He gave them information, but if he came close to saying anything the Dragon didn’t want revealed, a spike of icy pain would erupt in his veins. He managed to keep his farce, but he was sure a few of the crowd, particularly Jory, was picking up on his muted pained expression.

After an eternity later, the group finally loosened. Glaw felt a weight leave, and he breathed deeply. A few wary glances were still thrown his way, but he seemed to have convinced a few of the group. The two other norns seemed to trust him, at least. The taller, Braham, he had ascertained, clapped him loosely on the shoulder as the group filtered slowly from the small office. Braham’s expression was drawn, and he looked haunted beyond his years. Something akin to hope was brimming in his eyes, though, directed at Glaw.

A small sprout of guilt grew and curled in the emptiness of Glaw’s stomach. He gave Braham a watery smile and a nod.

Finally, all that was left in the room was him and the Commander. She had her back turned to him, poring over something on the desk. His hand twitched, and ice magic prickled at his fingertips with the incessant desire to be released. He could fulfill Jormag’s wish here and now and be done with the Dragon for good.

Rook seemed to sense his eyes on her, and she turned. He met her dark eyes, and he clenched his hand. Not here. Not yet. He wouldn’t get out alive. Even if he managed to kill her, the entire Pact and all her friends would take him down in a heartbeat.

Despite her wilted appearance, power still emanated from Rook. It traced along the taut brace of her shoulders and the jagged curve of her face. Something deep and buried thrummed in the amber-gold of her eyes. A sort of power that put fear in Glaw’s heart. A sort of power great enough to scare Jormag.

“You look familiar.” She said after the long pause of intense staring.

Trepidation bubbled in Glaw’s throat. “I do?”

What would he do if the Pact Commander recognized him from an old life?

“Where are you from?”

“Hoelbrak.” He used the same lie as before, barely disguising the panic in his voice.

“Hm,” Rook hummed. She looked back to the desk, rolling a thought over in her mind. Whatever she decided, she didn’t voice it. Instead, she plucked something from the desk and pocketed it. She gave Glaw another long look. “Where will you go? For the night?”

Although Glaw had agreed to help the Pact and the ragtag group that was Dragon’s Watch the next day, his lodgings had gone undecided.

“Back to the Svanir camp, probably.” He said.

“Do you want to?”

The question came at him like a wild right hook. “I…”

Truthfully, he hated every second he spent among the Sons of Svanir. They were crass, brutish; they sent hateful glances at him any chance they got, and they barely tolerated his presence. “Not really.” He admitted.

“Stay here for the night.” Rook invited. Her voice filled with regret. “We have… plenty of spare bunks.”

“I will.” The sprout of guilt growing in the pit of Glaw’s stomach unfurled a new branch, and a lump sat like a stone in his throat. “Thank you.”

Rook nodded derisively. Her expression lightened at Glaw’s decision. She opened her mouth to speak again but decided against it. Exhaling softly, she straightened. “I’ll show you your bunk.”

She strode from the room, and Glaw followed with a strange feeling of conflict wallowing in his heart. His loyalty to the Dragon was already coming into doubt. The thought made his arm ache with a chill, and he did his best to banish the thoughts of dissent from Jormag’s plan. He could do this and gain his freedom. There was no test in life without a bit of doubt, after all. At least, he assumed as much; his blank memories were no help in finding the truth of that thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For references' sake, here's Rook and Glaw during the events of Whisper in the Dark:  
> [Rook](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0ee62fae6d46c1a043c2e1c9b0631080/ac62a77650abdbdf-6b/s400x600/7da03d4f3f44eab7be8f419cb03b4082494ec392.png) [[face](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d90b7a2d89d769e96dd2f2c3f5f7267c/tumblr_pqsv3nqxej1y92djio4_640.png)]  
> [Glaw](https://66.media.tumblr.com/34d24361bbfe65f8ec16a0de9ce287e1/8e2886858be8c6cd-de/s400x600/776dca1cc4f7c720c3f7cb8735e74335ab4567e7.png) [[face](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7671e366452ba150440c16e1555202af/tumblr_pxosrkZW5S1y92djio2_400.png)]

The next day came too early. Weak sunlight filtered through the window, refracting across the gray room like Glaw was sleeping under a sheet of ice. Stifling a groan, she kicked off the heavy blanket and sat up. She wiped the sleep from her eyes with her left hand; her right laid loosely on the sheets, the unwrapped, deadened flesh a sickly gray-blue hue. Small glimmers of ice peeked through the sallow skin.

With a shove and a soft sigh, she heaved herself off the bunk. The rest of the barracks around her were barren. The Commander had placed her in a separate wing from the rest of them. While they were technically working together, nobody trusted her yet. Glaw couldn’t blame them. She was going to inevitably end up betraying them. Their mistrust was well placed.

She ran a hand through her hair and plodded to the crooked mirror on the wall. She stared herself down, feeling like she was slowly settling into her skin. For the weeks she had been living with the Svanir, she couldn’t risk being anything but male, even when it didn’t fit quite right. Straying from anything but their strict manliness would have meant death. She locked eyes with her reflection, and her hand strayed from her hair and brushed gently along her jaw.

The spell was broken by a clattering outside the barrack wing. She dropped her hand from her face and picked up the leather and cloth straps that were draped across the mirror’s edge. One by one, she began to wind them around her frostbitten arm. Tuck, pull, wind, pull, weave, and tug tight until the strap showed no signs of slipping. The minutes ticked by as she repeated the motion again and again. Halfway through the last strap, the door of the barrack clicked open, and she jumped, the strip of leather gripped tight in her palm.

Braham peered in through the crack in the door. “Didn’t mean to startle you. We’re leaving soon.”

Glaw gritted her teeth and turned away from him. “Almost ready.” She muttered, continuing her winding.

Braham stepped further into the wing with a shuffling step. “What are you--?”

Glaw swallowed and yanked the last bit of the strap into place with a little more force than necessary. The edge bit into the living flesh at her shoulder. Adjusting the hem of her tunic to cover the binding, she rounded on Braham. “Nothing,” she snapped.

Glaw almost imagined the silence between them glistened with ice fractals.

Brushing past the taller norn, she returned to her bunk. Her armor was piled at the foot of the bed. She pulled it on and adjusted the fur sprawled across her shoulder. The helmet and hood, she left off for now. It might come in handy for anonymity later, but for now, she figured seeing her face might instill some friendliness. She prised a brittle smile from the depths of her mind and pinned it on. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for his reply, she tucked her helmet under her arm and plucked her dagger from beneath her pillow. She slotted the blade into its sheath and marched out the door. Vaguely, she heard Braham follow her.

Outside the barracks, the others had gathered. Glaw sent a glance towards the stables; she caught a glimpse of Frigg’s scales. None of the others were mounted, though. Frigg would stay grounded. As would Glaw.

She sighed and gave her armor one last adjusting shift. Everyone watched her with hawkish gazes as she approached; she forced herself to not quell under their stares. As she finally joined their loose ring, Rook nodded.

“Good, we’re all here. Following Bangar and Ryland’s trail will have to wait for now.”

Beside Glaw, Braham protested weakly. Rook quieted him with a stern but gentle look.

“A patrol of Pact soldiers never checked in last night. They’ve gone missing in the forest to the east.”

A cold stone settled in the pit of Glaw’s stomach. Even the Svanir were smart enough to avoid the Aberrant Forest; something ancient guarded those woods, and it didn’t take kindly to intruders, especially after Jormag’s influence had swept through.

Rook pressed on. “Braham, Jory and I will go find them.”

Jory stepped forward, looking at war with herself. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I… I think I’ll stay here. I don’t feel in control of myself right now.”

“That’s alright. Help the Vigil get back on its feet.” Rook nodded sympathetically and turned to Glaw. “Care to help us?”

Glaw balked at the offer. The last thing she wanted to do was get entangled in some old norn legend suddenly come to life. Despite the fear brewing in her chest, she swallowed and nodded.

“Excellent. Rytlock, you and Crecia head to the Raven Sanctum. See if you can find anything to help us defeat the fraenir; we’ll meet you there once we’ve found the patrol.”

Crecia shifted on her feet, looking towards the sky. “Careful out there, Commander. I think a storm’s blowing in.”

Crecia’s words rang true. The sky was quick to gather thick yellow-gray clouds, and a vicious wind sprang up from the northern ridges. Glaw pulled the fur collar closer around her neck and eyed the dark treeline before them with apprehension.

Neither Rook nor Braham seemed to share her sentiments. Rook cast one grimacing look at the sky and made her way into the lengthening shadows of the forest. Braham was quick to follow. Glaw listened to a sharp howl arise from the trees, well aware of the snow piling steadily around her boots. She steeled herself and marched after the others.

Inside the forest, the air was stale and silent. Not even the wailing of the wind pierced the veil of foliage and ancient woods. The thin blanket of snow coating the ground was the only noise.

Every slight twitch of the undergrowth plucked at Glaw’s nerves. Dark shapes danced in her peripheral, and she faintly heard chittering cackles sound from the shadows. One sharp twitch had Braham eyeing her warily.

“What is it?”

Glaw shook off her unease and straightened. She forced her hands to relax and focused on the faint line of footprints ahead of them. “Seeing things.”

That didn’t seem to ease Braham’s mind. He frowned and glanced to Rook. The Commander was ahead of them, her gaze shifting from the prints to the flickering shadows as well. Softly, her voice rang out. “What do you know about this place?”

“Mostly legend and lore.” Glaw said. “The Svanir talk of an ancient spirit who guards the woods and eats the souls of any who wander away from the light. They say it awoke when Jormag set their magic upon the Marches.”

Braham shifted nervously beside her. “Are they true?”

Glaw could only offer a shrug. “I’m not too keen to find out.”

“Well, something big’s out there.” Rook stopped and turned a small circle. “The footprints scatter here; they’ve churned up the snow. I suspect whatever whatever beasts roam these woods are to blame.”

Before anyone could say something in reply, a scream split the silence of the forest. Ice prickled along Glaw’s arms, and Braham and Rook had their weapons drawn in a heartbeat.

“I’ll go left. Braham, you and Glaw go right.” Rook hissed. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and disappeared into the shadows of the trees.

Braham shared an uneasy glance with Glaw. Smothering the discomforting whispers crawling up her spine, Glaw drew her dagger and pushed her way through the undergrowth. Smaller, shrill screams lead them. The chittering and dancing shadows on the edge of her vision grew stronger as if encouraged by the fear in the air.

Glaw burst into a small clearing with Braham at her side. Blood stained the snow dark red beneath their feet, but her attention was held by something else. Eyes wide with shock, Glaw stared up at the creature constructed of bone, wood, and rotting flesh. It stared back at her with piercing black holes in its skull, and a shrill chattering erupted from its bony maw. Glaw scrambled back, her heart pounding in her chest. She collided with Braham and slipped into the slush beneath her feet.

Her companions didn’t seem to be faring much better. Rook stood on the sidelines with an owlish, blank expression. The arrow she had notched dipped its head until it drew a crooked line in the snow. The creature swung its head to and fro before returning its focus to the quaking Pact soldier pinned between its claws.

A scream split the air and was cut off a heartbeat later.

Glaw swallowed the fear bobbing nauseously in her throat and slowly climbed to her feet. Drawn by the movement, the creature watched her with an empty gaze. The stare was mesmerizing, and Glaw found the forest swimming around her. Snatches of voices filtered past her ears like a bitter breeze.

Whatever the creature saw didn’t interest it, though. The connection was broken, and it turned towards the Commander. The keening chittering intensified, and it took a small step forward.

Glaw watched. The creature would kill Rook. Her job would be complete. Spirits, no one could even fault or blame her. How was she supposed to protect the Commander from an ancient beast of norn legend?

Another small leaf unfurled on the stem of guilt growing in the pit of her stomach. Her boot crunched into the snow mush as she took a subconscious step.

Torn and rotting muscles bunched in the creature’s back as it prepared to pounce.

“No!” The scream burst from Glaw’s chest, and her feet started moving on their own accord. She struggled to find purchase on the half-melted undergrowth, but adrenaline pulsed a heady beat in her ears and pushed her forward. She rammed into Rook and shoved her to the ground.

The creature’s angry shriek made her ears ring, and she felt a claw snag her frostbitten shoulder and pull.

She slammed into the ground and gasped for air, winded. Buzzing and alarm bells clanged in her head, and her shoulder burned with a righteous fury. The creature leered over her, its hypnotizing eyes glittering with wraith-like fire. Pulling in a shuddering breath through her nose, Glaw squeezed her eyes shut and felt blindly for her fallen dagger. Her finger brushed its hilt, just out of reach. A desperate scream built in her throat.

A twang ripped through the air, and the shadow of the creature above her vanished. Warily, Glaw peered through her eyelashes. The bleak vision of the forest canopy above greeted her. She sucked in hasty breathes and hauled herself to her feet.

Rook and Braham were back to back. The creature circled them, flitting in and out of the shadows. Two arrows sprouted from its shoulder and black ichor ran down its pale skull.

Glaw scooped up her dagger and shifted its hilt in her grip. After a thought, she passed it to her other hand. The frostbitten limb ached from the gash the creature had left behind, but elemental power pulsed through the shards of ice buried in her skin. She had never really been good with her left hand, anyway.

Frost collected on the dagger’s blade and hardened into a biting icicle. Glaw slunk into the shadows as Snow Leopard had taught her. The shadows might be the creature’s realm, but it was hers as well. It’s attention was honed on Rook and Braham. It had all but forgotten her.

Glaw waited until the creature had its back to her. Summoning a surge of energy, she burst from her hiding place and buried the icy dagger deep into the creature’s spine. She clung to her weapon, half out of anger and half out of self preservation. The creature bucked and twisted beneath her; it thrashed sharply, and Glaw lost her grip. She tumbled to the ground with a yelp and narrowly avoided a heavy paw crashing down after her.

An offering hand appeared in her peripheral, and she accepted it after a moment’s hesitation. Braham yanked her upright and steadied her. Rook stood between them and the creature. Her expression was murderous. The Commander fired off shot after shot until one hit the creature in the eye socket. The green wisps of its eyes winked out, and its corpse collapsed with a rattling wail. Its flesh dissolved into black ichor which stank the air with a foul smell.

Rook stared disdainfully down at the fallen creature and wrinkled her nose. As she swept her gaze around the carnage in the clearing, her expression grew somber. Finally, she turned to Braham and Glaw. “What was that thing?”

“Boneskinner.” Glaw and Braham muttered simultaneously.

“A what?”

“That ancient norn legend? We just killed it.” Glaw pushed away from Braham’s support and limped over to the puddle of ichor. Gingerly, she pulled her dagger free. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as inky blackness clung to the metal. She freed the fur from around her neck and wrapped it around the dagger. It would be a pain to clean later.

As she returned to the other two, she found them staring at her. “What?”

“Thank you.” Rook murmured. Glaw stared at her in confusion. “You saved me. If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way, I… I couldn’t…”

“Oh. Right.” Glaw looked away, her cheeks flushing. As far as murder attempts were going, she seemed to be actively moving in the wrong direction. She cleared her throat. “It’s nothing. We should get going; there’s nothing else we can do here.”

The change of topic seemed to work. Rook fell silent, her gaze returning to the blood and mutilated shreds scattering the clearing. “Right…” She said. She steeled herself and started to push her way back to the forest’s edge.

Outside the protection of the canopy, the storm had not let up. Glaw couldn’t see two feet in front of her, even with Snow Leopard’s spirit on her side. She jumped and swallowed a hiss of pain when a hand clamped down on her injured shoulder. Rook’s face hovered worriedly behind her.

“Do you know the way to the Raven Sanctum?” Rook’s voice was nearly swallowed by the blizzard. Glaw nodded and almost missed the Commander’s reply.

“Then lead the way.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite a bit shorter than the last few because I wanted a nice clean break between this one and the fight with the fraenir

They trudged along in a straggled train: Glaw in the lead with Rook clamped to her shoulder and Braham following after. The wind whipped and wailed like a chained banshee, and after a few minutes of trying to face the blustering gale head-on, Glaw slipped her helmet on. Her chilled breath escaped with a hiss, and a slight warmth of feeling returned to her face.

Their ragtag group plodded onward.

Yes, Glaw knew where the Raven Sanctum was. It was where the fraenir had staked his claim, sinking dirty claws into Raven’s magic. The Raven Sanctum also carried a haunting reputation, one she wasn’t too eager to go and seek out herself. Yet somehow, she was marching right towards its doors.

Her feet felt like two blocks of unwieldy ice. Between the screen of white before her and the glittering snow beneath her, she felt like she was going nowhere. Her frostbitten leg skidded across a frozen stone buried beneath the blanket of snow and made her heart leap into her throat. She lost her footing, nearly falling to her knees.

Rook’s hand on her shoulder steadier her. Glaw threw a raspy thank you over her shoulder, but her words were snatched up by the wind. The Commander’s grasp on her shoulder did not make her wound spike with agony this time, oddly. The pain in her shoulder from the boneskinner’s claw had dulled to the familiar ache the rest of her right side carried. With silent curiosity, Glaw probed the tear; her gloved fingers met a ridge of slicked ice where the wound had been.

A feeling of unease wriggled in her gut like an eel, and she quickly dropped her hand away before Rook could notice.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t freak out in the snowstorm.

Glaw lifted her gaze, the tension in her shoulders releasing as she spied the stark walls of the Raven Sanctum ahead. “There!” She cried out, hoping her companions heard her.

With renewed vigor, they sped up. At the glowing doors, a few other shapes stirred. As they drew closer, Glaw picked out Rytlock and Crecia’s huddled forms.

The pair of charr approached as they emerged from the storm into the protection of the Sanctum’s walls. Crecia took in their haggard appearance with a twitch of her tail.

“We’ve not been able to find anything, Commander, not with this storm blowing down our backs.” Rytlock said once they were within earshot.

“Of course,” Rook muttered.

Glaw stared up at the impassive doors. “So how do we get in?”

“Jhavi will be joining us soon with the other Raven lens.” Rytlock rumbled, his gaze flitting to the howling storm that still swirled outside their meager shelter.

Glaw followed his gaze. She resigned herself to more waiting and dropped down onto a nearby rock. With a soft sigh, she unclasped the helmet from her head and tucked it away. The cold air slapped her in the face, and she almost regretted pulling the armor off. The helmet was stifling, though, and the others were giving her wary glances. With a last look back, she eyed the others; they had their backs to her.

She slowly unwound the top strap around her arm and peeled back the cloth covering her shoulder. No smarting wound greeted her. The normal deadened, frostbitten flesh that was usually there was absent, too. Instead, the thick gash that the boneskinner had left behind was filled with a shard of ice. It glittered maliciously in the dim light, small jagged peaks tearing and catching on the cloth of her tunic.

A small breath caught in the back of Glaw’s throat. She flexed her right arm; the muscles moved sluggishly, but elemental power danced at her fingertips as if strengthened by the added ice.

A scuffing of snow nearby alerted her to someone’s approach, and she hastily wound the strap back around her arm. The new shard peeked through the leather cording as if taunting her. She jerked the hem of her tunic over it. Just in time.

Rook’s concerned face appeared in her periphery, and the Commander lowered herself to the ground beside Glaw.

“Are you alright?” Rook’s voice was soft.

“Yes. Fine.” Glaw tried to settle her shoulders; to look like she had not a care in the world. An invisible line kept her shoulders drawn and taut like a bowstring, however, and the pinched discomfort on her face refused to smooth. The lie fell flat.

Rook’s expression reflected her disbelief.

Glaw closed her eyes and breathed in a breath. “I’m fine.” She tried again. “Just need some time to catch my breath.”

That seemed to ease Rook’s conscience a little; she nodded. “That creature--the boneskinner--it didn’t hurt you, did it?”

Glaw thought of the new shard of ice buried deep in her arm. “Nope. Just a bit bruised.” She managed to bite out. Not technically a lie; her entire body felt like she’d gone three rounds with a rampaging Svanir chief. She would be smarting tomorrow.

Rook hesitated. She bit at her lip, struggling between saying something else or holding her tongue. She didn’t get the chance to decide. A yell arose from the others, and Glaw looked up to see a tall figure pushing its way through the storm.

Jhavi stumbled into the shelter of the Sanctum door, shaking snow and ice from her clothing. A disgruntled look was painted on the norn’s face, and she held out a lens to the Commander. “Let’s go kill this son of a bitch.”

Sound seemed to work differently within the Sanctum’s walls. Maybe it was the way the ceiling was constantly shrouded in shadows or nonexistent entirely. Maybe it was the darkness creeping along behind their little troop. Maybe it was Raven’s wiles plucking at their already-frayed nerves.

Whatever the reason, Glaw hated it.

Raven only seemed to be interested in Rook’s answers at each pedestal, so the rest of them were left to plod along like lost sheep while the Commander wandered silently. As they made their way down a long stretch of empty hallway, Glaw studied Rook’s face. Her eyes were dark, flitting from shadow to shadow like she was seeing the same apparitions they had seen in the Aberrant Forest. When Glaw looked to the dark corners of the Sanctum, nothing odd beside a few small insects jumped out at her. For the first time all day, nothing seemed to be intent on killing them. Whatever Rook was seeing didn’t share those sentiments, apparently.

_ ‘They easily give trust, do they not?’  _ Also for the first time that day, Jormag let their voice be known in Glaw’s head.  _ ‘Look how they already turn their backs to you. They no longer leer at you with wary eyes.’ _

Glaw swallowed and clenched her fist. The Dragon wasn’t wrong. Between the morning and then, the group seemed to have accepted her into their fold with little protest. Discomfort squirmed in her stomach, but an underlying sense of happiness fluttered like dove wings. She had found allies. People willing to help her. Maybe even friends.

All under a guise of lies.

The happiness refused to be quashed, though, no matter how much the guilt of lying to these people gnawed at her mind. Acceptance was one hell of a heady drug.

_ ‘The more they trust you, the easier your job will be. Kill her.’ _ Jormag’s sickly-sweet whisper grounded Glaw back in reality. She looked back to Rook, each false truth she had told them suddenly building on her tongue.

She couldn’t crack that easily. For now, she owed allegiance to the Dragon. The Dragon was helping her, so she would help them. After the deed was done, she could deal with the fallout, emotions and all.

Morals steeled, Glaw straightened her shoulders and pulled her gaze away from the back of the Commander’s head. For now, she would play her part.

Rook finally broke free from whatever stupor had gripped her as they drew close to Raven’s last trial. She made a few odd comments before clamming up, and as they progressed through the last question, Glaw had her eyes glued to the Commander. Her words kept rattling around her skull.  _ Where were you? _

For once, Glaw wasn’t sure if it was Jormag or Raven messing with Rook’s head. The desperate loneliness that had emanated from Rook for a few moments…

In the back of her mind, Glaw finally began to piece together how she was going to kill the Commander. Perhaps it would be easier than she had first considered; from the looks of things, she and Rook were quite similar, especially when it came to their downfalls.


	5. Chapter 5

Glaw sunk down behind an ice pillar as the wind howled in her ears and frost gathered in her hair. The fight against the fraenir was… well, going. She had no gauge whether her companions were winning or not. Part of her quietly rooted for them. Another part wished the tides would turn in the fraenir’s favor. It would certainly make what she was about to do easier.

So far, she had landed no blow on the fraenir; she wasn’t sure how Jormag would take her attacking a loyal follower. While the fight had been raging, she feigned attacks and lobbed a few chunks of ice before ducking into cover.

Her back pressed flush against the icy wall, and she closed her eyes. She pulled in a few breaths, the chilled air making her lungs hurt. She had a plan. A shaky plan, but it was something. Hopefully, it would be enough.

She opened her eyes slowly. Ice gathered in her palm, solidifying into a long, sharp shard. She wrapped her fingers around the crude ice dagger, steeling herself. She muttered a few reassuring words under her breath and pulled herself back into the open. Step one: make herself a target.

“Hey, fraenir! You soggy piece of dolyak shit!” She bellowed, slamming a chunk of ice into the fraenir’s side for good measure. As she’d hoped, the fraenir slowed his attack on the others and turned to her. Mutely, she heard her companions’ cries of protest and confusion.

“You look familiar.” The fraenir rumbled as he strode towards her. The wind in the room picked up, and Glaw struggled to keep her footing. “Do your friends know you’re one of the Dragon’s pawns?”

They did. Despite it, Glaw shot a glance at them. They didn’t know how deep the allegiance ran, though.

A scathing remark leapt to Glaw’s tongue, but she held it. She skittered back as an icicle crashed down beside her. A little farther…

Glaw kited the fraenir behind one of the pillars, barely dodging another attack. The next swipe, she let hit. The fraenir slammed into her, and her breath wheezed out of her chest. She pinwheeled as she flew backwards, but she wasn’t much happier about the ground rushing to meet her. Every muscle in her body cried out as she collided with the slick floor. She finally slid to a halt against the back wall and curled in pain.

A shout got her attention, and she peered through bleary eyes as Rook ran towards her and the fraenir. Good, her ruse had worked.

Glaw struggled to her feet as Rook fired arrows at the fraenir. Most plinked off his armor and the ice, but a few struck true. Glaw knew the fraenir was weakening; he’d only make a good distraction for a bit longer. She had to get to it. Step two: don’t let the others see.

Gritting her teeth, Glaw stuck out her hand and plucked at the reserve of magic bubbling in her chest. She jerked her hand up in a claw-like motion, and icy curtains sprung from the floor, trapping her, Rook, and the fraenir in a closed area.

For a moment, her head spun, and she fell back against the wall. Her frostbitten arm ached from fingertip to shoulder. Now came step three: killing the Commander.

She reaffirmed her grip on her icy dagger and pushed herself off the wall. The fraenir was on his knees, arrows sprouting out of him like a porcupine’s quills. Rook had her back to Glaw, an arrow nocked and pointed at the fraenir’s grinning face. The fraenir’s gaze slipped from Rook to Glaw; Glaw froze, her heart thudding in her ears.

The fraenir’s grin widened.

Glaw licked her chapped lips and krept closer to Rook’s turned back. She was nearly in striking distance now.

“You alright back there, Glaw?” Rook shouted over her shoulder, her gaze never leaving the fraenir.

The guilt budding in Glaw’s stomach redoubled. Her hand shook as she raised the dagger.

“Glaw?” Concern and panic tinged Rook’s voice.

Glaw’s ears rang. She couldn’t--

She couldn’t--

The ice dagger fell from her limp fingers and shattered as is hit the ground.

As soon as the shard broke on the cold floor, agony wracked Glaw’s arm. It was worse than its usual ache; it was a writhing, frigid fury, sending spidery shocks of stabbing pain through Glaw. She clutched at the frostbitten limb and howled, collapsing to the ground.

_‘I understand.’_

The whisper whistled shrilly against the buzz filling Glaw’s head.

_‘It’s hard to kill someone who pretends to care about you. But they don’t love you. They’ll turn against you eventually.’_

Jormag dug their claws deeper into Glaw’s arm, and she couldn’t bite back the scream.

_‘You’ll see.’_

The icy walls around her exploded.

Glaw swam between lucidity and dreams. Murky images flashed beneath her eyelids. Nameless faces, unfamiliar, and if she tried to focus on them too long and try desperately to pin a memory to that face, the face faded, swallowed up by the blackness.

A few voices called out to her. Gentle touches flitted across her skin, and the weight on her chest became lighter.

One dream persisted. A song wound around her mind. The tune was haunting, melancholy with the murmuring of the breeze as its companion, but the sound of it left a warmth burning like a hearth in Glaw’s heart. 

Slowly, quietly, the song faded into the blackness as well.

Glaw burst into wakefulness with a sharp gasp, memories of the fight against the fraenir flooding her mind. She didn’t get very far in her struggling. If a pair of hands pushing her back down hadn’t stilled her, the splitting headache that made spots explode across her vision would have.

She sucked in another panicked breath and blinked to clear the floating specks. She jumped as a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“Glaw?” Rook’s voice trickled into her ears.

Glaw blinked again, and a plain gray roof came into focus above her. Another blink, and she found Rook’s face.

Jormag’s parting words came drifting back to her.

She swallowed, her tongue feeling like wool, and struggled to pull herself into a sitting position. She floundered for a moment, her right arm leaden. Rook steadied her as she settled.

“Where are we?” She asked, her voice nary more than a sad croak.

“Back at Jora’s Keep.” Rook sat back, pulling her arms close. “What do you remember?”

“I--the fight. The ice… it exploded. The fraenir… did we--?”

“The fraenir is dead.”

A small puff of relief escaped Glaw. She pressed her eyes closed and sent a small thanks to the Spirits. Opening her eyes again, she let her gaze wander around. She was back at Jora’s Keep, back in the wing she’d been bunked in. The crooked mirror still perched askew on the wall. She caught her own eyes in the mirror. Dark circles were painted beneath her eyes, and she looked far more pale and drawn than usual. Deathly, even. She had been stripped of her armor, and--

Her heart stopped, and she tore at the blanket laying over her right arm. In her periphery, Rook rose, a hand outstretched. “Glaw, wait--”

Glaw’s breath stuttered in her throat. Her arm was unbound, every inch of the frostbitten flesh on display. That was not what chilled her heart the most, though. Jormag had taken more, sinking their corruption deeper into her skin. Shards of ice jutted from her skin; ugly, glinting points glittered in the half-light, and a thick layer of frost encased her hand, turning her fingers to claws.

“Glaw…” Rook’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

Glaw swallowed the bile rising in her throat and tore her gaze away. She met Rook’s amber eyes.

“Jormag’s corruption… we think you got hit by a stray shard, and we couldn’t keep it from spreading. I’m sorry.”

Amidst the buzzing terror in her ears, Glaw paused. Oh?

Oh.

They thought this was from the fight with the fraenir.

Glaw sucked in a breath and jerked her head in a half nod. “How long was I out?”

“Glaw, I--”

“It’s fine.” She said. She resisted the urge to look back at the arm. “How long was I out?”

Rook sighed. “A day. Maybe a few hours more. The blizzard’s lifted. The Pact is preparing to leave soon.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“We--You’re still recovering. The Vigil can keep you safe here, and I know a few people who might be able to cure the corruption.”

Glaw allowed herself to dream of her own skin feeling alive and warm again; to be able to rest comfortably next to a fire. No more aches, no more pain. Still no memories. She shook off the fantasy and set her mouth in a firm line. “With all due respect, Commander, I’d still like to come. I want to help.”

“If you leave, you won’t be able to get help. There’s an unknown out there--”

“There’s nothing left for me here.” Glaw’s voice rose over Rook’s, her tone breaking at the end. “Commander, please.”

Rook finally relented. “Alright.” She stood and circled the bed. “We’re leaving tomorrow at dawn. Start packing. I’ll let the others know you’re coming.” She gave Glaw’s right arm a last glance before slipping out the barrack doors.

Glaw sat up fully. The going was slow; her right arm refused to bear her weight, and her head still throbbed with a roiling headache. Eventually, with a lot of groaning and huffing, she shoved the blanket aside and swung her legs over the lip of the bed.

Perhaps she should have taken Rook’s offer.

It was too late now. They were stuck with her.

As she got out of bed and began to gather her stuff together, she pondered on Jormag’s words.

_They’ll turn against you eventually. You’ll see._

She didn’t want to believe it. But the echoing whispers sunk into the wide cracks of her mind and settled like heavy pine pitch. She was also without a cause at this point. Jormag hadn’t reaffirmed their orders to kill Rook. Rather, they seemed accepting, understanding of her inability to. Somehow, the lack of a mission made Glaw more nervous. Before, she had felt indebted to Jormag, but there had still been an air of freedom despite the Dragon breathing down her neck and whispering in her ear. Now, however, in Jormag’s silence, it felt like a prison. If she hadn’t been a hostage before, she was now.

Her peace and quiet and dark thoughts were broken with a loud rap at the door. She considered staying quiet, but that probably wouldn’t end well. “Come in.” She said.

Braham entered slowly, his attention flicking around the barrack before settling on Glaw. “How are you?”

“As well as one can be with a load of dragon corruption in their arm.” She didn’t pause in her one-handed folding. She stuffed the messy stack of cloth and furs into the satchel beside her bed. “Can I help you?”

Her tartness seemed to put Braham at a lack of words. The air grew thin between them before he answered. “Just wanted to check up. You were pretty banged up when we brought you in here. Whole heap of ice fell on you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had worse.” At least, Glaw assumed she had.

“The Commander said you’re coming with us.”

“Yep.” Glaw popped the P, dropping her armor into a pile on the bed. The metal was a bit scuffed and dinked in places. It’d take a few hours of hard work to get it looking presentable and intimidating again.

“Is that wise?”

Glaw rounded on Braham. “Honestly, I don’t care if it’s wise. Really can’t be bothered. Because it doesn’t matter. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not. Now stop dancing around. What is it you really want?”

“I…” Braham stared at her with wide eyes. “I… I wanted to know what I’m supposed to… call you…”

Glaw raised her eyebrow at the stammering norn. “Glaw?”

“No, no--I mean… he or she or… are you a man or a woman or neither? I can’t… tell.” Braham finally spit out. He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck.

Glaw let her shoulders fall and huffed a small sigh. “He, she, they, anything. Depends on the day.”

Braham brightened. “So you’re an _ergi_.”

Glaw flinched at the term. She wrinkled her nose and turned back to shoving things into her satchel. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

At least the apology felt genuine. Glaw stilled, her back still turned to Braham. “I’m a woman right now.” She offered. “Had enough of manliness after the Svanir.”

“Oh.”

Glaw shoved the last bit of her stray possessions into the satchel and cinched it closed. She fell back on the bed and flexed her right hand. It moved a little, the ice shards squealing and grinding against each other. “Yeah.”

“You’re taking Jormag’s corruption pretty well. Most people would be freaking out.”

“There’s not much point in freaking out. It won’t fix it.” Glaw said. It was a small lie; in reality, she’d had plenty of time to readjust, even if the extra ice was a bit frightening.

Braham hummed in agreement and fell silent.

Glaw looked up at Braham. He seemed content with staring at the floor between them. Glaw let the air simmer until it nearly boiled over with tension before speaking. “Is there anything to eat around here? I’m starved, and you lot seem to have taken my supplies.”

Braham finally met her gaze, a smile crossing his face for the first time since Glaw had met him. “Yeah, come on.”


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some nice, light-hearted fluff before the gang goes in pursuit of Bangar and Co. again.

Rook had told Glaw that they were leaving at dawn the next day. The Commander had failed to mention that the Vigil was giving them a big send off before they left.

Glaw eyed the big bonfire burning in the center of the keep. The fire was surrounded by slow-roasting game, and the smell was surprisingly mouth watering. Without prying her eyes off the blaze, she muttered to Braham, “Isn’t it a bit in poor taste to be celebrating? Wasn’t there a massacre?”

When Braham didn’t answer, she looked to him. His expression was bitter, and he didn’t meet her gaze. “We’re honoring their legend.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. He breathed in and straightened his shoulder.

“Besides, it’s Wintersday,” he added in a lighter tone.

“Wintersday…” Glaw sounded out the word in confusion.

“Yeah, Wintersday.” Braham’s brow furrowed. “You celebrate Wintersday, don’t you?”

“I--I--”

“Feasting, gift giving, snowball fights, lots of drinking…”

“Oh! Yeah, of course! Of course I celebrate Wintersday, obviously.” Glaw laughed nervously. “‘Course I do… I just…”

Now Braham was staring at her in concern. “You didn’t hit your head on the ice, did you?” He reached out a hand.

Glaw stepped out of his reach. “No, I’m fine.”

She had hit her head on the ice, evident by the dull headache still making her head throb, but it certainly wasn’t the reason for her absent memories.

Desperate to escape more prying questions, she walked to the bonfire. The heat prickled at her skin like a thousand stinging gnats, but the heavy weight of her icy arm seemed to lighten. She stared at the flames, doing her best to ignore the strange and frightened looks the people around her were giving her corrupted limb.

The fire finally became too much to bear, and she stepped back. Spots danced in her vision from the light. Snow crunched under footsteps on her left; she looked up.

“Here.” It was Braham, holding out a mug like a peace offering.

Glaw accepted the mug, raising the rim to her nose. She sniffed at the frothy liquid inside and shot a glance at Braham. “What is it?”

“Hot cider.”

Glaw gave the drink another curious sniff before tipping the mug back.

The cider burned a fiery track down the back of her throat, and she sputtered as the sweet aftertaste of alcohol hit her tongue amongst the myriad of spices. After she stopped coughing, she glared up at Braham.

The norn was stifling laughter none too well.

“It’s spiked.” Glaw said, but she couldn’t keep the corners of her lips from curling upwards.

“Of course. It’s not Wintersday without some hard cider.” Braham said after he reined in his amusement.

“Trick me again, and I’ll deck you.” Glaw pointed a threatening finger at Braham. She took another sip of her drink, smaller this time.

Braham didn’t seem fazed by her threat. “Consider me warned.”

Glaw hummed. The cider settled warmly in the pit of her stomach, and for a moment, her mind forgot the iciness of her arm. She sipped her drink, caught in fleeting euphoria, until a rumbling hunger broke her out of her daze. Her eyes slipped to the spitted meat.

“You don’t suppose they’ll let us take a bit by any chance, would you?” She asked, nodding to a roasting deer.

Braham followed her gaze. “They can’t say no if you don’t ask.”

“True. What’s that saying: ‘better to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission’?” Glaw started for the spit.

Braham trailed after her. “Something like that, yeah.”

Glaw sized up the deer and looked around. The cook was checking another spit, their back turned to the two norn. Glaw unsheathed a small knife from her boot, silently thanking herself for stashing it in there earlier. She gave Braham a mischievous glance before carving off a hearty slab. She hissed as the sizzling meat burnt her hand, and she tossed the piece to Braham.

“Hey!” The cook had caught sight of them.

Cursing under her breath, Glaw sawed off a piece for herself and took off running. The cook began to give chase, and Glaw didn’t pause to check if Braham was following her.

The chilled air bit at her skin and made her lungs sting as she ran, but it didn’t stop laughter from bubbling in her chest. A grin took up residence on her face, making her cheeks hurt with the effort. She ran for one of the few places in the keep she knew about: the stable.

She nearly slipped into a snowdrift as she rounded the sharp corner into the stables, and she nearly lost her prize as she checked her shoulder against a wooden beam. She came to a tumbling halt beside a very-surprised Frigg and collapsed into a heap beside the skyscale.

She drew in shuddering breaths, her lungs aching between too-small gulps of air and silent laughter.

A few seconds later, Braham slumped down beside her in a similar state. Glaw’s quiet shuddering giggles stilled and she rasped in a few precious breaths of fresh air. She caught Braham’s eye and slowly raised her prize of roasted deer. Braham cracked a smile, and the two fell back into laughter.

Full-belly cackles gripped Glaw, and she leaned back against Frigg’s flank. Her eyes watered, and her chest began to ache from laughing. The cackles slowly diminished into chuckles, and she wiped at her eyes. Finally, she managed to regain control of her amusement, although her face was still stuck in a persistent smile.

She waved away Frigg’s curious snout, hiding the meat from the skyscale. A rivulet of drool dripped from Frigg’s maw onto Glaw’s shoulder. Glaw shaved off a few strips of meat and offered them to the hovering beast. With Frigg no longer bearing over her, she cut a few more strips for herself.

She bit into the deer meat and closed her eyes. Maybe it was because she hadn’t eaten anything properly in days or maybe it was the adrenaline still roaring in her ears, but the meat was heavenly. She inhaled a few pieces before opening her eyes. She found Braham staring at her.

“What?” She muttered around a bit of deer.

“It’s just the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

Glaw ducked her head, hoping the shadows of the stables hid her burning cheeks. Given her pale complexion, it probably didn’t. “No it isn’t!” She protested. “Not like there’s much to laugh about anyway.”

Braham didn’t say anything else, but Glaw could still feel his gaze lingering as she finished the rest of her stolen prize.

She swallowed down the rest of her meal and swiped her knife across the straw-strewn floor. The stables were quiet except for the lowing of the dolyak in the other stalls and Frigg’s gentle breathing.

Glaw raised her head and looked at Braham. He was preoccupied with his stolen piece, not quite as voraciously hungry as Glaw had been. Reaching over, Glaw nudged his leg with her boot. “Hey.”

Braham looked up quizzically.

“Thanks,” Glaw said, “for doing this. You didn’t have to. I’m sure there’s better things you could be doing with your time.”

“Yeah.” Braham half-nodded. Glaw tried not to feel hurt by the agreement in his tone. “Not really, though. This is nice, especially after… all that. You don’t treat me like I’m something broken.”

Glaw swallowed around the growing tightness in her throat. She broke the eye contact, finding her hands to be more interesting. “Likewise.” She managed.

The moment was broken by Frigg. The skyscale snuffled and rested her heavy head on Glaw’s left shoulder. A large, wet tongue ran up the side of Glaw’s cheek, and Glaw wrinkled her nose.

Braham was laughing again, and Glaw sent him a murderous stink eye before chastising Frigg. She grabbed the skyscale’s snout and waggled her heavy head. “What have I told you about licking? It’s too damn cold for that.”

Frigg rumbled lowly, her bright eyes belaying no regret. If the beast were any smarter, Glaw might have thought she saw a twinkle of amusement in Frigg’s gaze as well. The tip of Frigg’s tongue peeked out between her teeth.

“You’re a menace.” Glaw muttered to Frigg.

“That’s a skyscale, right?”

Glaw snapped her head up at Braham’s question. Slowly, she inched out an answer. “Yeah…”

“Must have cost you a pretty penny. Those beasts are pretty rare unless, well…” Braham trailed off, getting caught up in his thoughts.

“Unless what?” Glaw pressed. A small sliver of excitement was beating like a caged bird in her chest. Braham knew about skyscales, and he seemed to know far more than Glaw hoped to. Perhaps he knew where Frigg had come from, or how Glaw had come to befriend Frigg.

Braham shook his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Skyscale are loyal beasts; you’re lucky to have one so friendly.”

A question sat heavy on Glaw’s tongue, and she wanted to press Braham for information. She put the question aside, though. “Frigg’s good.” She ran her hand up Frigg’s flank, feeling the divots and rises of her scaled hide.

Glaw stared down at her right hand, flexing the icy clawed tips of her fingers. Feeling was slowly returning to the limb, and her motor control was increasing, but it was definitely more muted than it had been before.

The comfortable silence stretched on. And on. And on. On until it reached the border of being uncomfortable. Glaw hauled herself to her feet.

She dusted straw and dust off her clothes and held out a hand to Braham. “I’m sure the cook’s forgotten about us by now.”

Braham took her hand, and Glaw pulled him up. She watched as he brushed bits of straw off himself, raining debris onto Frigg. Frigg sneezed loudly and glared at the norn.

“So,” Glaw rocked back on her heels. “I’d better go clean up. I think there’s straw and skyscale snot in my hair.”

Braham nodded.

“See you later?” Glaw started out of the stable stall, turning to look at Braham.

“Yeah. They’re… We’re lighting pyres later, for those who were…” Braham waved his hand, his eyes dark. “You know.”

Glaw offered Braham the most comforting smile she could muster. “I’ll be there.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vomiting and general gore in this chapter!

Glaw adjusted the straps of Frigg’s saddle, her head far away from the actual task. She was stuck in a loop of the previous night: both the lighting of the pyres of the dead warriors and the fragmented dreams sleep had brought her. The funeral pyres were bright, haunting, smoky in her memories. The melancholy and grief that had saturated the air were still cocooned in the drunken haze of the Wintersday celebrations. Her dreams were no better; she remembered even less of them. More lulling songs and unfamiliar faces. They were something. Belonged to someone. Pieces of Glaw’s past, sifting through her fingers like sand.

She tugged the last strap a little too hard, and Frigg rumbled unhappily at the pinched scales. Slowly, Glaw lifted her head out of the fog and patted Frigg’s flank. “Sorry, love. Lost myself a bit there.”

Frigg gave another rumbling snuffle and stared Glaw down.

Glaw sighed. “Don’t give me that look. It’ll be fine.”

Frigg still looked at her doubtfully. Glaw couldn’t blame the skyscale. She was banding with people who were supposed to be her enemies, people she was befriending yet would ultimately betray. And between her misty memories and dreams, the day felt… off. The clouds rested high in the sky, thin and spread apart in a stark contrast to the snowy storm they had been just a day before. A weak film of sunlight even trickled into the valley. Everything was too quiet, too peaceful, as if something was holding its breath. Or perhaps just waiting for them to move on.

Glaw shook her head and went back to her task. Around her, there was more shuffling and quiet murmurs. The rest of their party was getting ready to plunge into the northern mountains. Most were on foot, with a few pack dolyaks to carry supplies, but Jory was softly cajoling a very large cat. In hindsight, Glaw considered, such a beast was likely more suited for freezing conditions than a skyscale.

Then again, those very thoughts were cast aside when something landed heavily on the keep’s walls and washed a watery shadow over their gathered group.

Glaw looked up and blinked against the light. Had the sun been any brighter on the snow, she might have thought that her eyes were playing tricks on her. The sun was still partially hidden behind the high clouds, though, and her vision was one of the few things that had been spared from injury.

A skyscale was perched precariously on the parapets, long talons hooking into the stonework as it sought to find balance on the thin walkway. It was much larger than Frigg, more thorny and less youthful with a smattering of vibrant red and white scales balancing out the dishwater gray. And sat upon its back, eyes pinned on the horizon beyond the keep’s walls, was the Commander.

Whatever she was looking for, she must have found, because her face twisted in concentrated concern, and she nudged the skyscale forward. The beast tucked its wings and leapt down from the parapets. Its weight threw up a flurry of snow slush as it landed, and Glaw danced back to avoid the cold and muddy debris.

She met Rook’s gaze with eyes wide with surprise. The look seemed to stir amusement in Rook, and as she slid free from the skyscale’s saddle, she chuckled. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Just… wasn’t expecting to see another skyscale.” Glaw sputtered out, eyes still on the large creature. “S’cold. Up here. North. They don’t like the cold.” She finally spat out the rest of the words making her tongue trip, and she held out a hand for the skyscale to sniff.

It did and then gave her an unimpressed, lidded stare.

Glaw shook off some of her amazement in lieu of indignation, and she shot the skyscale a similar glare.

Rook patted her skyscale’s snout affectionately and hummed. “They don’t. Ace isn’t usually this grumpy, I promise.”

“Ace?”

That got a laugh out of Rook, and she took the skyscale’s large head in both her hands. “Her name’s Asal, Ace for short. Mean’s asshole.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” Glaw commented, which got her another full stink eye from Ace.

Frigg didn’t seem to share Glaw’s reservations about the new skyscale, and she shoved past Glaw to stick her face in Ace’s own.

Glaw tensed, her hand itching to grab Frigg’s reins and pull her away. She had no doubt that Ace was more than capable and willing to use the many teeth she bore, especially against the excitable smaller skyscale.

Rook noticed. “Don’t worry.” She said, watching as Frigg shoved her shovel-like head beneath Ace’s own and squirmed until she was half wedged beneath the weight of the other. “Ace’s used to dealing with young ones.”

Glaw looked at Rook again in surprise, but Rook didn’t notice this time. Her attention was still on the pair of skyscales. Glaw swallowed and looked away, unsure of why the sentence has struck her like a slap to the face. Maybe it was just how little she knew about Frigg, her loyal mount and self-acclaimed friend. Young one… for all Glaw knew, Frigg might have been barely more than a juvenile.

She broke out of her runaway thoughts when Rook clicked her tongue. At the sound, Ace untangled herself from the mess of limbs that was the gangly Frigg and plodded over to Rook. Frigg righted herself and started to do the same, but she paused and gave Glaw a bright-eyed look before bounded up to the norn.

“Right.” Rook said, and this time her voice rang around the near-empty courtyard. The gentle background clamor quieted except for the lowing of the pack dolyak. “Everyone ready?”

She swept her gaze around and landed it on Glaw. Glaw gave a half nod, and Rook tilted her head in turn.

Glaw planted her foot in Frigg’s stirrup and hoisted herself into the saddle. Rook followed suit onto Ace’s back.

“Let’s be off.” Rook said, quieter this time, but her voice still carried through the still air.

The world was still holding its breath.

The thought sent an unnerving shiver down Glaw’s spine. She cast another glance at the weakly-illuminated sky and tried to quash the feeling of unease brewing in her belly. Rook took to the air, and she followed.

The cold air bit at her face, but that feeling was almost familiar now. At least with the blizzard gone, some of the wind seemed to carry warmer currents from the southeast. She let the breeze batter her face and wash the smells of the keep from her nose before she tugged her helmet on. Her armor was still scraped and dinked in places, but she’d taken a bit of time to at least wipe the grime off it. She couldn’t afford it rusting.

Her helmet securely cinched in place, she tapped her heels to Frigg’s flank, and the skyscale surged higher into the air, until the rest of their party below them looked like little more than colorful ants.

Rook appeared in the air beside her, rocking gently in her saddle against Ace’s rhythmic wingbeats. A grin built on Glaw’s face, not that Rook could see it, but it quickly melted away when Rook pointed to something in the distance with a drawn and grim expression. “Look, over there.” She said. “Smoke. And not the good kind.”

Glaw twisted in her saddle and peered towards the ridges just beyond Jora’s Keep. The unease that was building in her gut twisted and crept up her throat like an ornery eel.

Black smoke, thick and foreboding, rose from the nearest hillside. Glaw could just make out fur-strung tents, broken and licking with flames.

The eel was in the back of her mouth now, sour and choking. Her heart thudded a protestation, and Glaw wordlessly nudged Frigg into a dive towards the burnt-out campsite.

Against the wind shrieking around her helmet, she barely heard Rook shout after her. “Glaw, wait!”

Frigg touched down just out of reach of the flames and smoke, and Glaw all but spilled off the skyscale’s back. Her knees landed heavily, wrongly, in the snow, and she nearly slipped again as she righted herself. She drew in a ragged breath, absently sent a prayer of thanks to the Spirits for the air filtration her helmet possessed, and dove into the curtain of ashy black air.

Fire whipped and crackled around her, sounding oddly muted to her ringing ears. The heat made her icy arm burn, and her right leg even set to aching. She stumbled as her knee nearly buckled, but there was nowhere to steady herself on. Everything was ablaze.

She wanted to howl. To yell. To do something. But her voice caught obstinately in her throat and didn’t give much more than a keening whimper.

She swung her head to and fro, trying to see more than just smoke and fire and broken tent. Her vision snagged on a dark shape half-covered by a bit of charred fur and canvas. Her heart had replaced the eel in her throat, and the feeling was even more nauseating. She limped towards the lifeless mound, her leg all but a dragging dead weight at this point. She collapsed into a puddle of slush, mud, and ash beside the form, a chorus of no’s slipping out between her clenched teeth.

She hooked her fingers in the tattered remains that were once cloth and furs, now just burnt threads, and heaved. She pulled the body free of the dying blaze, half slipping, half sliding in the slush that gradually turned to snow as she ripped herself away from the fire’s clinging grasp. Gasps were now tearing at her throat, and her lungs were seizing despite the fact that no smoke had touched them.

She hovered her hands over the dark corpse, numbly watching as her fingers shook with the force of a northern gale. She swallowed, steeled herself, and rolled her morbid prize over.

“No…” The word hissed out, the last whisper of air from her lungs.

Balur’s glassy eyes stared back at her, although it was not the friendly, warm face she remembered leaving behind not long ago. The fire had not been kind to him; burnt flesh mixed with dark, pooling blood.

Glaw met his sightless gaze. Blood roared in her ears, and something painful tore and fluttered in her chest.

Her hands scrambled for the latches to her helmet. Her shaking fingers could barely undo the cinches, her fingernails scrabbling at the metal. The cold air slapped her in the face as she tore the mask free and tossed it away. She shoved herself away from Balur’s corpse.

Bile burnt the back of her tongue as she retched. Her nose stung and her eyes watered. Her throat squeezed and shuddered in protest. Her stomach did flip flops as her back arched for another round.

The vomiting subsided into dry heaving and then into raspy, punctuated gasping. Glaw remained there, bent on her hands and knees in the biting snow while the silent clamor of the world rang in her ears like a death knell.

A hand came to rest gently between her shoulders. Soothing. Gentle. Fingers touched her forehead and carded through her hair.

Eventually, Glaw pushed herself up and fell back on her ass into the snow. The hands steadied her. She messily scrubbed at the bile dribbling from her bottom lip. Her throat still ached with a righteous fury, and her eyes stung with tears not just borne from the heaving. She sucked in a cold, bitter breath and raised her gaze from the snow.

Rook stared back at her. Concern darkened her amber eyes. “Glaw…?” She said Glaw’s name with uncertainty, letting it hang in the still air.

Glaw sucked in another breath and nodded jerkily. Her gaze wandered back over to Balur’s unmoving form. Rook followed the empty stare.

“Who was he?” She asked quietly.

“A…” Glaw’s voice croaked out of her throat. She paused and gathered herself. “A friend.”

Rook’s expression was sympathetic, and she helped Glaw stand on unreliable legs. Glaw’s right leg no longer buckled, but the limp persisted as she returned to Balur’s side.

“They took her.” She said to the open air.

“Who?” Rook’s voice was soft, like she was testing the waters.

“Nelena. His companion… his friend, the other merchant.”

Rook didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “Who took her?” She pressed.

Glaw looked up finally at the charred and broken campsite. The fire had died to a smolder with nothing left to consume. Something started like a spark in her gut. She traded grief for anger. “The Svanir. This was their work. I should know. I’ve done it enough times…”

Of her last admittance of guilt, Rook said nothing.

Like the fire, the anger burning in her stomach found kindling easily. This was the Svanir’s work, but it wasn’t some mindless raid and pillage. Nelena and Balur hadn’t had much, certainly not anything worth putting in the effort of an attack. Certainly not with so many armed soldiers so close by.

Glaw was willing to bet that Jormag had ministrated it. She hadn’t thought the Dragon to be spiteful. Vengeful. This didn’t feel like a coincidence, though.

As if on cue, a voice slipped down her ears like ink. _‘What I give, I can just as easily take.’_

“Shut up!” Glaw snapped, and the whisper disappeared.

“Glaw?”

Glaw set her jaw and turned on her heel. It might have just been the heat of the dying blaze at her back, but the air almost seemed cloyingly warm. The half-melted snow at her feet glistened.

The rest of their little party was finally catching up. Each wore a different expression as they raked their eyes over the carnage behind Glaw. She could almost taste the burning questions dancing on the tips of their tongues.

Glaw’s nose wrinkled as she drew her lips up into a snarl. She bared long canines against the icy wind.

“Let’s go kill a fucking dragon.” She growled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for LWS5 Shadow in the Ice from here on out!

They ended up burying Balur. Glaw wanted to build him a pyre, give him a proper norn sendoff, but the thought of seeing dancing flames lick at him again had her stomach lurching. She couldn’t leave him there in the snow to freeze over either. Jormag would get too much pleasure out of that.

So she dug. Chipped through the frozen dirt and mud with anger still coursing through her veins. It made her hands shake a little too much sometimes, and her frozen fingers would let the shovel drop. The others helped as they could, but their eyes reflected confusion. They hadn’t known Balur. He was just another victim of the Dragon.

Glaw hadn’t known him either, not really.

Braham disappeared at midday, laying a heavy, warm hand on Glaw’s shoulder as he went. He muttered something about scouting ahead, seeing where Rytlock and Crecia had gone, and left.

By the time it was all said and done, dusk was throwing hazy shadows across the mountaintops. Rook had disappeared at some point, too, presumably to go find where Braham had wandered off to. Jory and the pack dolyaks were all that remained. Jory was eyeing the gathering clouds, one hand buried in the scruff of her mount.

“Our reprieve didn’t last long.” She observed, breaking the fragile silence. “Another storm is about to blow in.”

Glaw grunted in response, her throat still raw. Frigg nudged her with her head, giving a shiver and a huff.

“I’ve decided to stay behind.” Jory continued, her gaze straying to the fresh mound of upturned snow and dirt. “Even with the fraenir gone, the Svanir are obviously still a threat here.”

There was something else behind her words, a sharp tug to her voice.

Glaw rested her hand on Frigg’s flank, the other fiddling with the saddle strap. She waited for the other shoe to drop.

“The Commander told me about the conversation you two had yesterday. The offer still stands, you know.”

_ I know a few people who might be able to cure the corruption. _

Glaw’s hands stilled. She pressed her forehead against Frigg’s neck and drew in a long breath. A bone-deep ache pulled her shoulders taut, and her fingers still trembled from exertion. Slowly, she pulled away from the skyscale and levied herself into the saddle.

“Jormag’s taken things from me. Used me.” The hoarse words tumbled over her lips. For a moment, the wind whisking past her ears almost sounded like cold laughter. “Spirits be damned if I just step back and roll over.” She ground out.

Jory bit at her lip before inclining her head. “Commander went west, looking for Braham. If you move fast, you might be able to catch up before the storm hits hard.” 

She clicked her tongue to her mount and turned, guiding the pack dolyaks back towards Jora’s Keep.

Glaw watched her go before turning her face to the darkening western ridge.

An icy wind gnashed at Glaw’s heels. Night had swept in quickly, and the snowstorm had been quick to follow.

Braham’s tracks had been easy to tail: a mess of churned snow and slushy bootprints. Rook’s had been less so. Muddled skyscale tracks were scattered every fifty feet or so, a mad hop-skip game of Ace flying and landing. Both trails were disappearing quickly in the dark and fresh snow.

Frigg blew a huff of steam into the air.

Glaw and Frigg had started out flying, but the high winds and low visibility had forced them to set down and trudge through the snow on foot. Neither were too thrilled about it.

“They can’t have gotten too far, eh, love? Bjora Marches isn’t that big.” Even the most western reaches were less than a day's journey on foot, as treacherous as that might be.

Glaw tightened her grip on Frigg’s reins. Her right arm felt leaden, creaking and whining like grinding ice. If she didn’t catch sight of the others soon, she’d have to weather the night in the next cave she came across.

Between the twisting shadows and the snow catching on her hood’s hem, she caught a glimpse of a torch bobbing between a mess of tree trunks. A call of greeting caught in her throat, and some forgotten wisdom from Snow Leopard’s Spirit came back to her. She hunkered low, pulling Frigg along with her as she crept closer to the light source. Sneaking with a skyscale wasn’t the quietest nor the smartest plan Glaw had ever come up with, but she wagered it was far from the worst.

Luckily, the shadows welcomed her like an old friend, and the crunch of snow beneath her feet quieted. Her breath billowed out in shallow spurts, covered by Frigg’s heavier huffs.

The torchlight stopped moving. Muffled voices drifted through the air.

Glaw held her breath and let go of Frigg’s rein. She pressed herself against a tree and peered at the shapes silhouetted by the flickering fire.

One was most decidedly Braham’s towering form and the other, scanning the dark treeline like a hawk, was most decidedly Rook’s, perched atop Ace’s back. The large form of a wolf stood between them, a whine escaping the beast on occasion. Glaw let the breath she had been holding hiss from between her teeth. She straightened and pushed her way into the torchlight. “Making me freeze my ass off--”

A fist slammed into her, cutting her words off as all the air wheezed out of her lungs. She fell back into the snow, yellow stars dancing across her vision.

“Oh, shit. Glaw?” Braham’s voice warbled into her buzzing ears as she rolled onto her side, her wheezing subsiding into coughing. “Shit, sorry!”

Glaw sat up slowly and tugged her helmet off. Her sweaty mop of hair plastered against her forehead, and it quickly began to grow frosty in the shrill breeze. She sputtered and lurched back as a warm, wet tongue slopped across her cheek. The wolf loomed over her, whining and eagerly lapping at her face. Cautiously, Glaw pushed the beast aside, quietly wondering where the duo had picked up a wolf. She accepted the hand Braham extended her and let herself be pulled upright with a groan.

“Who’d you think it was?” She asked once she had regained her breath. Her head still spun a little, and a ringing had taken up residence in her ears.

“Big scary helmet? Icebrood arm? I thought some Sons of Svanir were trying to sneak up on us.”

The words stung a little, and Glaw flinched back. She tried to swallow the expression of hurt, hoping the night shadows would hide her pained expression. “Right.” She said.

Rook had slid off Ace, now standing beside Braham. She elbowed him none-too-gently in the side.

The norn yelped and rubbed at the sore spot. “What?” He looked between Rook and Glaw, the gravity of his words finally striking him. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean-- I know you’re not-- Not anymore-- I… I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

Watching him flounder and dig himself a deeper hole almost made up for the blunder. Glaw smothered a grin and waved her hand. “It’s fine.” The nonchalance was hard to pull off. “What’s with the wolf?”

Rook caught the change of topics and chuckled. “This is Garm, Eir Stegalkin’s wolf.” At the name, the Commander looked to Braham. “He helped me find Braham.”

Confusion wound a deeper thread in Glaw’s head. Eir’s name sounded familiar, oddly so, but it was no one Glaw’s current self knew. Per usual, she bit her tongue. “So, where are we heading?”

Rook pointed further westward, beyond the spread of trees. “Still Waters Speaking. We have a lead on the source of the whispers, but the local kodan are being twitchy. Jormag’s influence makes it hard to trust anyone.”

Glaw swallowed and nodded. “Indeed it does…” She whispered under her breath. She grabbed Frigg’s reins and trudged after the others.

Thankfully, Still Waters Speaking wasn’t far off. By the time they reached the gates of the kodan village, Glaw’s feet felt like two blocks of ice. She shivered and pressed against Frigg’s trembling flank, watching as Rook and Braham parlayed with the guards.

One kept shooting her distrustful glances. Glaw was glad she had kept her helmet off; they might have attacked her on sight, otherwise.

“What about that one, the other norn?” The guard that was staring her down spoke in a gravelly tone, his eyes narrowing.

“What about Glaw?” A defensive note crept into Rook’s previously-diplomatic voice.

“He looks half icebrood already.” The guard growled.

Glaw bristled, and she took a step forward. “She. And my voice is my own, I assure you. Jormag has not taken my spirit yet.”

The guard held her stare before dipping his head. “So I see. You may enter; Cloudseeker will see you.”

The gate opened, and they passed through it, but Glaw could still feel the guards’ gazes on her back like pinpricks. The farther she walked into the kodan settlement, the more eyes turned to stare. Whenever the firelight caught on the ice of her arm, she met the eyes of another alarmed and afraid kodan. Glaw squared her shoulders, tempted to squeeze her eyes shut and just let Frigg guide her.

Squabbling voices, deeper and raspier than the kodans’, dragged Glaw’s thoughts away from the accusing stares. She spied Rytlock and Crecia in a cell nearby, halfway through an argument. It came to a stilted halt when Rytlock caught sight of their ragtag group. “Finally,” he huffed.

“Crecia. Rytlock… what happened?” Rook approached them, eyeing the cell bars.

“They thought we were with Bangar. Didn’t want to start killing kodan, so we came peacefully.” Crecia explained.

“Mostly…” Rytlock muttered. Crecia shot him a glare.

Rook pursed her lips. “We’ll get you out.”

“Much obliged, Commander. Be real nice to not spend all night in this cage.” Rytlock rumbled. He looked like he wanted to grouse more, but a voice called from the other side of the village.

“Ah, dragon slayer. Welcome.”

A kodan, larger than the others, waved them towards the back of the village. He swept his eyes over them as they approached, his gaze lingering on Glaw for a moment. He blinked and continued on, his attention returning to the Commander. “I am Cloudseeker, Claw of Still Waters Speaking. Follow, let us speak privately.”

Rook turned to Glaw and Braham. “Stay here.” She ordered. Her gaze slid to Braham. “And stay out of trouble.”

“Hey!” Braham protested, but Rook disappeared into Cloudseeker’s room before he could get any other words out.

Glaw rocked back on her heels. She waited one… two… three seconds before boredom and a chill began crawling up her spine. She tugged at Frigg and Ace’s reins and guided the skyscales to the bonfire blazing at the center of the village. The two scaled beasts rumbled in appreciation of the warmth and curled up beside it. Frigg’s head quickly became wedged beneath Ace’s own, and the skyscales were out like a light, puffing quiet snores into the night air.

Glaw crouched beside the fire, hands extended. Her icy arm began its ritual ache of pain, but the relief of the heat sloughing snow and the chill off her body overshadowed it by a landslide. Contented for a moment, Glaw allowed her eyes to slide closed. The weight of the day suddenly slammed into her, and she was reminded of the fatigue bearing over her like a death shadow. She slowly sat on the cold ground, a sigh wheezing from between her teeth. Her shoulders dropped out of their rigid tension with a bone-deep weariness, and her head began to dip like a dowsing rod.

A heavy hand on her shoulder roused her, and she began to fight it off before another settled on her ice-coated shoulder. She blinked open bleary eyes and peered at Braham.

Braham withdrew his hands, sitting down beside her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’fine.” Glaw rubbed at her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. “Shouldn’t have been dozing off.”

Braham was silent. Glaw blinked again and looked at him. He was staring at the fire, the reds and yellows of the flame reflecting in his eyes.

Glaw swallowed and dragged her own gaze to the flickering blaze. “So, why exactly are we here? Besides finding Rytlock and Crecia-- I assume that was just a lucky break. The Commander said something about the source of the whispers?”

She heard Braham sigh heavily. “Yeah… Drakkar, Jormag’s champion. It lives in the nearby lake. Maybe if we can silence the whispers…”

“Then maybe we can stop Jormag?”

“Or at least stop Bangar and his crusade.” Braham went silent again. Glaw glanced at him, watching as he rubbed his hands together, his brow knitted in thought. He must have sensed her gaze on him, and he looked up. They locked eyes, pale blue against green, before Braham looked away again. It might have been the proximity to the fire, but Glaw swore she saw a dusting of red on his cheeks.

Something unfurled in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t guilt this time, didn’t taste cloying or choking. It fluttered and twisted like a delicate flower breaking through the snow.

Glaw scooted closer to Braham’s side and rested her head against his shoulder. When he didn’t move away, she allowed herself a soft smile and let sleep pull her away into empty dreams.


	9. Chapter 9

A gentle lullaby rang across the vale.

The whispering wind ruffled their hair, and they blinked open their eyes to blinding light. The world was white. Snowy. The cold urged them to stand.

The lullaby softened. A shot of urgency struck them as the gentle voice began to fade. “Wait!”

They found their feet and frantically looked around. Stood on the edge of the cliff was a woman garbed in white. Her silver hair hung long and braided over her shoulder. At their call, she turned her head. Pale blue eyes settled on them. The gaze was soft, knowing, sad in a way that made their stomach flip. She murmured a few more words of her lullaby. The words were foreign to them.

“Wait,” they said again, taking a step towards the woman, “who are you?”

The wind picked up, and the woman disappeared in a flurry of snow. A memory of her smile lingered. It coaxed a quiet sob to build in their chest.

_ ‘Dear child.’ _

At the voice, they spun on their heel, hand flying to their waist. What for, they weren’t sure. There was no weapon there, and even then they were not sure why they would be carrying one. Nevertheless, their skin prickled and their hand felt achingly empty.

_ ‘Don’t be afraid.’ _

The voice was saccharine sweet in their ears, seemingly borne on the wind itself. They spun another small circle.

“Who are you?” There was a slight tremble to their voice, a reminder of the childlike pain building in their chest. “Where am I? Who… Who am I?”

The last question made their voice crack, and the sob tumbled out unbidden.

_ ‘Hush.’ _ The voice bade, soothing.  _ ‘Your name is Glaw, dear child.’ _

_ Glaw _ . The name fell into a slot in their memory, dispelling some of the haze clouding their mind. Glaw straightened a hair. “Where am I?”

_ ‘I can help you,’ _ the voice whispered in lieu of an answer,  _ ‘I know your memory has been taken from you, Glaw. I want to return it.’ _

“And why would you do that?” The shake in Glaw’s voice lessened as they spoke.

_ ‘Because I need your help, dear child. You scratch my back and I scratch yours.’ _

Glaw swallowed. The snow around their feet shifted with a breeze. For a moment, silence reigned.

_ ‘And,’  _ the voice pressed,  _ ‘I can give you power.’ _

The voice wound around Glaw, coiling close like an overbearing snake.

“Power like what?” Glaw would be lying if they said the offer didn’t tempt them.

_ ‘Look, dear child.’ _

A tingling spread across Glaw’s right hand. Surprised, they jerked back. Ice crystals spread across the pale skin, sending lances of pain, and energy, up the length of their arm.

_ ‘I know your powers, Glaw, the hold you carry over the elements. I can give you strength over my element, the ice. This, along with your memories, I offer for your help. What say you, dear child?’ _

Glaw couldn’t drag their eyes off the icy flesh. Tantalizing power coursed through their veins, soothing the white hot panic they had awoken to like a balm.

_ ‘Do we have a deal?’ _

Glaw licked their lips, the skin already growing chapped in the cold wind. They slowly closed the icy hand, watching the fractals catch and glimmer in the light. Finally, they shuddered out a breath. “Deal.”

The answer seemed to please the voice immensely. It hummed, and a flurry of snow brushed against Glaw’s legs.

_ ‘Excellent.’ _ It purred. The voice began to grow faint.

“Wait!” Glaw shouted for the third time. “Who are you?”

_ ‘I am Jormag.’ _

The voice cut out with a disjunctive howl of the wind, and Glaw’s eyes snapped open. The black-blue early morning sky above greeted them. Panic gripped Glaw, and they rolled over and pulled themself into a crouch. A fire crackled beside them, making their arm of ice ache… an arm which was much less icy than they last remembered. The panic fluttering in their chest strengthened a tenfold, and their stuttering breath caught in their throat at the sight of the crystalline skin.

They raked their gaze around, eyes widening when they found themself in the middle of a village populated by… bears?

_ ‘Kodan.’  _ Jormag’s voice supplied the answer with knowing reassurance.

Glaw relaxed a touch. A few of the kodan were eyeing them now, whispers spreading between them.

Between the fog still clouding Glaw’s mind and the glances, ice prickled at Glaw’s fingertips, ready to attack if needed.

“Glaw?”

That was their name.  _ Who knew their name? _

Glaw started to rise from their crouch when a hand brushed their shoulder.

On instinct more than anything, they spun around. Their icy hand planted in the center of their assailant’s chest and pushed him away. The force made Glaw fall back, and they scrambled back in the slush on their elbows.

They locked eyes with their assailant. The green gaze was wide-blown, something else glimmering in there amongst the surprise. Slowly, both their eyes dropped to where Glaw had pushed away. A faint burn of ice licked at the man’s skin, only half-protected by his clothes.

“I… I…” Glaw stammered. They raised their crystalline hand again as the man made to advance. “Stop,” they ground out, “who are you?”

There. There along with the surprise was a reflection of hurt, and fear. It gave Glaw pause, and their hand wavered.

The man’s brow knit in confusion. “It’s me, Braham.”

“Braham, I…” The fog lifted, and Glaw blinked, squeezing their eyes shut until stars danced behind their eyes on a background of black. They fell back on their back in the slush and mud and rubbed at their face with their good hand. “I… shit.”

Glaw hauled themself upright, flinching back a step as they noted Braham step away in turn. They looked again at the ice burn that was quickly growing an angry red-purple. “I… shit, sorry.”

“What was that?”  _ Oh _ , Braham sounds angry.

Glaw winced a little, fighting the urge to hide their corrupted arm behind their back. “Bad dream… bad memories. I was… lost for a moment. Sorry.” They repeated.

Braham still looked wary, but his shoulders dropped. “What was it about?” He asked after a heartbeat.

Glaw swallowed, clenching their corrupted fist. “Jormag.”

Braham nodded, slowly and jerkily.

“You… we should probably go get that looked at.” Glaw took a step forward, pointing at the ice burn.

Something painful twisted in their gut when Braham took an equal step back. “I will.” He said. He took another step back before turning and walking away.

Glaw looked around the village, their skin prickling as they noticed the silence. All of the kodan were staring them down, the fear and distrust now apparent on their faces. Bile rose in Glaw’s throat. They looked to where Braham had stalked off to before lowering their head and heading for the village entrance. They tried not to notice how the kodan cleared a wide path for them.

When the others found him, he was sat on a large stone a good many feet from the village, whittling at a fallen branch with his knife. He didn’t look up as they approached, expression twisting as he shaved off another flake.

“Glaw.” Rook’s voice came soft and gentle, not unlike the one Jormag had whispered to him with in his dream. His memory. He paused, working his jaw, and looked up.

Jhavi was among them, again, standing a little off to the side like she didn’t know what her role was in this confrontation.

Slowly, Glaw set his whittling aside, his gaze flicking to Braham. “Where are Rytlock and Crecia?” He asked simply, rising.

Rook looked torn, eyeing the two like she could feel the tension brewing. Her lips curved down in a frown. “Gone back after Bangar.” She answered.

“And where are we off to?” Glaw’s eyes wandered to the new stretch of linen bandage that stretched over Braham’s skin where the ice burn had been. He swallowed a wince.

“Nowhere yet. Glaw, what happened…”

“Doesn’t matter. It was a dream.” Glaw cut Rook off.

The pained look was back. “We need to know if we can trust you.”

Something sour and cold shot through the pit of Glaw’s stomach, and he swallowed back the onslaught of nausea.

_ They’ll turn against you eventually. _

“I’m fine.” Glaw forced out around his uncooperative tongue. “I’m fine. It was just a bad dream that wanted to stick around.”

Rook didn’t look entirely convinced. “Glaw, that’s not… going to be good enough. If Jormag gets into your head…”

The panic was dizzying. He searched for a bite back to defend himself, but his head was empty.

His savior came in the form of a black wolf, darting past their group in a flurry of churned snow.

“Garm!” Braham shouted and gave chase.

“Braham, wait!” Rook called after him.

Braham paused, looking between the Commander and Garm’s fading form. “He’s heading for the lake.”

“Braham, do  _ not  _ go into that lake. That’s an order!”

Rook’s words fell on empty ears; Braham had already disappeared after the wolf.

“Shit.” Rook hissed. She dragged her attention back to Glaw. The dark amber eyes were piercing. “On your feet, Glaw. We can finish this discussion later.”

Glaw wasn’t given much choice in the matter. After the decision was made, Rook had her bow held at the ready and was running after Braham. Glaw and Jhavi exchanged a look. Jhavi shrugged and trailed Rook. Glaw gritted his teeth and followed suit.

The path down to the lake was treacherous. Well, it would have been had there been a path. Glaw followed Jhavi down the near-cliff face, slipping and skidding on the ice. He could spy Rook just in the distance, but Braham and Garm were nowhere to be seen.

By the time they reached Rook’s side at the lake’s edge, Glaw was panting. The icy wind stung his lungs.

He edged a glance at Rook. Her face was stormy. Impassive.

“He’s gone beneath.” She said quietly.

“Isn’t that where Drakkar is?”

The silence confirmed the question.

Glaw looked over the frozen lake, indistinguishable emotions rolling in his stomach.

A sudden crackling voice startled them all. ‘Commander--?’

Glaw stared in confusion. Braham’s voice was coming from Rook’s person, sounding like he was speaking through a pipe. He caught Jhavi’s gaze. The other norn mouthed  _ comm _ ; it did little to clear up his confusion.

“Braham!”

And now the Commander was speaking to him.

“Did you find Garm?”

‘Garm… and something else. We might have a way to stop Drakkar.’

“We’re listening.” Jhavi spoke over Rook’s shoulder.

An incomprehensible growling sounded through the crackling, and both Rook and Jhavi jerked back.

“Braham…” Rook spoke slowly. “What was that?”

It took Braham a moment to respond. ‘You should just come to me. Northwest corner of the lake, an old shrine. You can’t miss it.’

“Braham, that’s where Drakkar--”

The crackling cut out.

Jhavi broke the sudden silence. “We should bring some back up at least--”

Rook cut her off. “No, if Braham is…” She drew in a breath, shooting a look at Glaw. “We can’t risk more people.”

Jhavi looked conflicted, but she nodded.

Rook returned the nod and took a step onto the frozen lake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the dialogue at the shrines is from the episode, written by Anet, and I do not take credit for it. I don’t like writing verbatim, but what else can ye do. Tried to switch it up some, though.

_ ‘What are you doing, child? Chasing… straying…’ _

Glaw stepped onto the frozen lake. The ice creaked like distant howls under his boot.

_ ‘You should come back to me.’ _

The wind was picking up as their bedraggled trio made their way to the den carved into the lake’s ice. Unease picked at the nerves in Glaw’s shoulders like bony fingers plucking a lute.

_ ‘They don’t know you. They can’t help you.’ _

Glaw swallowed and curled his hand into a fist. Drakkar’s den laid before them like a yawning maw.

_ ‘Not like I do. Not like I can.’ _

Beastly shrieks emanated from the hole. The icy walls were dark and shadowed, barely glittering in the pale light.

_ ‘They will hurt you. I just want to keep you safe--’ _

“Shut up, you lying little snake!” Glaw’s voice echoed down the cavernous tunnel.

Rook and Jhavi looked at him with wide eyes. Rook held her gaze steady for a moment before looking farther down the tunnel. “The deeper we go, the stronger Jormag’s whispers will get,” she said, “be on your guard. Don’t believe anything it says.”

Glaw pulled in a ragged breath, his chest heaving from the outburst. Jormag had gone silent in his head, but the wind still pulled past his ears like taunting laughter.

The rest of the journey into the bowels of the lake was in silence, but Glaw could feel Jormag’s presence in the back of his mind, gnawing like a leech.

“Up there.” Rook pointed up through the tangle of ruins. A vaguely Braham-like shape was visible from the ridge’s lip.

Of all the things Glaw was expecting to find with Braham, whether friend or foe, the Spirit of Wolf was not it. The vision of the great wolf standing beside the norn made Glaw balk, and he hung back as Rook and Jhavi approached with clear awe towards the Spirit.

“Jhavi Jorasdottir, welcome.” Wolf Spirit greeted the norn with a warm tone and turned his eyes to Rook. “And Commander Rookfern… You do not know me, but I know you. Though you are not norn, your deeds are worthy of great legends.”

Rook dipped her head respectfully. “I’m… honored, thank you.”

“And you.” Glaw lifted his head. Wolf Spirit’s tone was almost fond, almost fatherly. “Glaw Hroarkin. You have strayed far from your pack, pup.”

Glaw’s heart hammered in his chest. He caught Wolf Spirit’s stare, his tongue sitting heavy in his mouth. “I-I…”

Wolf Spirit tilted his head. If he could smile with his muzzle, the smile would be small, knowing, sad but reassuring.

The weight of Wolf Spirit’s focus left him, but Glaw’s head was still spinning.  _ Hroarkin _ . The name fell into place like a familiar warmth, but no other memories followed it. If anything, the revelation left him feeling more frayed than before.

“--you will either slay Jormag or fall to Jormag.” Glaw shook his head and tuned back into Wolf Spirit’s rumbling words. “All Spirits know this, even when taken and corrupted. You must go to their shrines. Demand their power.”

Confused, Glaw looked to Braham.  _ This was the norn that had splintered the Fang of the Serpent? _ The Svanir had griped and groaned about that loss, particularly when drunk. Braham… didn’t seem to fit the description. Sure, he was a bit brutish and angry, but he also laughed at stupid things and indulged childish mischief. Braham was so… young. About his own age, Glaw had to wager.

_ ‘So much pain and heaviness for such young shoulders.’  _ Jormag whispered.  _ ‘He deserves rest… just as you do, child.’ _

Glaw’s lip twitched, and he tried to tune out the Dragon’s saccharine tone. He watched as Wolf Spirit faded away, leaving behind just a mossy shrine. In the Spirit’s absence, Braham seemed to deflate.

_ ‘Relax, dear child. Sleep. Let me keep you safe.’ _

“I know where the Spirits are.” Glaw stepped forward for the first time since arriving at Wolf Spirit’s shrine. “Well, two of them, at least. Eagle and Ox.”

“You want me to prove myself?” Glaw pressed on, speaking over Jormag’s whispering voice. “Fine. Let me help.”

The others looked at him. Rook finally nodded. “Alright. What do you think, Braham?”

Braham kept a piercing stare on Glaw, and Glaw tried not to wilt under it. “Lead the way,” he said.

Eagle and Ox’s old shrines were favorite stomping grounds of the Svanir in Bjora Marches. Then Jormag’s other minions had come along and run most of them out. Glaw had never been to any of them, but the Svanir had often complained that Jormag should have just gotten rid of the Spirits, as the Dragon had with Owl.

Eagle’s shrine was at the southernmost point of Bjora Marches, tucked into the sparse forest as little more than a howling gale. The eye of a metaphorical storm.

Their task seemed simple enough: cleanse Jormag’s corruption for long enough to speak with Eagle Spirit. It was always easier said than done.

Glaw pushed against the wailing wind, his feet skidding back on the sheet of ice and snow. He could spy Braham and Rook just ahead of him. They looked like they were faring little better. He tightened his grip on the corrupted griffon heart in his hand; the black and icy-blue organ still seemed to beat in his palm despite the fact that he had torn it straight from the beast’s chest.

Burn the icebroods’ life essence, the Vigil Priest had said. Easy.

By the time Glaw reached the inner circle, his thighs burned with effort, and his cheeks felt worn raw from the blistering wind. He pushed out into the eye of the storm and nearly sank to his knees in relief as the howling gale stopped. The others were waiting for him, though.

He trudged to Eagle’s altar and placed the icebrood heart in the brazier beside the other two. Almost before he could snatch his hand away, the hearts burst into flames. Beside him, he could hear Braham muttering a prayer to Eagle Spirit.

“Hm…” A deep voice crooned as the hearts fell away into ash. “Braham, son of Eir… and company.”

“Eagle Spirit, I--” Braham started.

“You are unworthy in every respect.” Eagle Spirit droned on as if the norn had not spoken.

Glaw looked at Braham.

Braham’s face twisted, and he straightened his shoulders. “I cracked the Fang of the Serpent. I demand an audience.” He pressed.

Eagle Spirit muttered unintelligibly. “Very well, Eir’s son,” she finally said, “Speak to me of strategy. Tell me of your plans. You kill Drakkar, then what?”

Braham’s lip curled. “We stop Bangar and his army! Keep Jormag from turning them into icebrood.”

“Foolish thing…” Eagle Spirit chastised. “I asked for strategy… What will killing Drakkar accomplish?”

“If Jormag speaks through Drakkar, then we have to shut it up. The whispers will stop. Free the charr from the dragon’s grip.”

Eagle Spirit almost seemed to tut in disapproval. “No vision, no foresight… You leave everything up to the Commander.”

Glaw glanced at Rook. Her face was stormy.

“You stumble and hope your betters are there to catch you.” Eagle Spirit sneered.

Glaw looked between Braham and Eagle Spirit. His heart beat in his throat. He wanted to step forward, tell Eagle to shut it and just  _ listen _ . But this wasn’t his fight, it was Braham’s. So he kept his mouth shut, fists clenched.

Braham swallowed. This time, his voice was low, even. “The Eagle I know understands that every plan is a risk.”

Eagle Spirit was silent.

“Failure isn’t always failure.” Braham’s voice grew loud again as he continued. “If you take your mistakes and learn from them, you have the foresight to lead. That’s the only vision that matters. And deep down, the part of you that’s not corrupted, knows that too.”

Eagle’s silence persisted. The great bird tilted her head, quiet and considering. “Perhaps so.” She mused. “Very well, Eir’s son. May my vision guide you to the victory I once sought.”

Eagle Spirit faded away, leaving the hum of the howling gale in the background.

Braham was silent, looking lost in thought. Glaw stared at the place where Eagle had disappeared, his mind spinning.

“Well,” Rook spoke softly, rousing them both, “one down, two to go.”

The proceedings at Ox’s shrine went similarly, although of all things, Glaw didn’t think he would be spending his time there as an ox. When the cleansing ritual was complete, Ox Spirit appeared, although her taunting was far more cutting and derisive than Eagle’s had been.

“What… is this puny thing…?”

“A hand constantly held…”

“Inside, you have nothing…”

Something clenched in the pit of Glaw’s stomach; Ox’s taunts sounded so similar to Jormag’s own, ones the Dragon loved to whisper to the downtrodden soul.

Glaw reached out and placed a hand on Braham’s shoulder. Braham looked to him in surprise before turning back to Ox Spirit.

“The only way we slay Drakkar is together. Look what happened to you! You hoard your strength, yet you still serve another. Would you doom the norn to the same fate? We must share our strength, or we die.”

Glaw was sure the spectral form of Ox would smite them, then and there. The spirit’s nostrils flared, and her ears flicked. “Hm, perhaps you are not so weak after all. You may have my strength, Braham Eirson. Slay Drakkar. Challenge Jormag. I will remain, waiting…”

Ox Spirit faded back into the shrine, and all three of them let out a weary breath. 

“I was actually… pretty worried.” Braham admitted to the silent air after a moment.

“Worried about what?”

Braham looked at Ox’s shrine, mulling over the Commander’s question. “That I didn’t have what it took. The strength to lead. Not after seeing you do it, Commander.”

Rook’s expression was soft, and Glaw felt like he was intruding on a private moment. The feeling persisted and he averted his gaze when Rook murmured, “Eir would be proud of you.”

“Yeah,” Braham breathed, “yeah, I think she would.”

Glaw was definitely intruding on a private moment now. He shuffled back a few steps and turned away from the shrine. He kept walking until he was in the treeline, out of earshot from the other two. He hunkered down against a tree. Wet snow soaked into his pant legs, and the pine tree’s bark scratched against his armored back. He looked down at his hands, his throat suddenly feeling tight.

Had someone spoken to him that softly, with adoration and affection? Reassured him in his doubts? Was someone out there missing him, now, searching for a lost child? Missing sibling? Absent friend?

Tears blurred his vision, and he hastily wiped them away when someone called his name. “Glaw!”

Rook and Braham were approaching. Their expressions looked a little lighter than before. Rook eyed him, gauging his expression. “Are you alright, Glaw?”

Glaw resisted the urge to rub at his eyes again. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Any update on Jhavi and Wolverine’s shrine?”

Rook’s amber stare was intense as she opened a comm connection with Jhavi. “Jhavi, any luck?”

‘Actually, Commander, yeah. Vigil’s got the place scouted out, old overgrown cliff side to the east. There’s something… odd about this place, though.’

“Good work. We’ll be there soon.”

Rook held out a hand to Glaw. Glaw hesitated before taking it; Rook hauled him to his feet. Her hand still clasped his tightly even when he had his feet beneath him. “Let’s go wrangle this last Spirit.”

The last squeeze of her fingers lingered warmly on Glaw’s gloved hand even after her touch retreated. Glaw nodded. “Let’s.”


	11. Chapter 11

The tangled walls of the labyrinth surrounding Wolverine’s shrine spiraled upwards into the clouded sky. Glaw’s eyes watered as he tried to make out where the vines ended and the sky began. Jhavi had been right; a strange energy held the place in a death grip, stifling all sound except for their own breathing. Even the breeze didn’t dare blow.

Jhavi greeted them at one of the labyrinth’s scattered entrances. Her arms were crossed, and she kept throwing wary glances at the dark labyrinth behind her. “I hope you’re ready for this.” She said.

“After the others, how hard can it be?” Braham joked. His voice wavered as he took in the suffocating shadows beyond.

“There’s something in there.” Jhavi warned. “Every Vigil soldier that’s gone in has either gone missing or come out babbling nonsense.”

Glaw watched the darkness shift and course around the mushrooms that peppered the labyrinth's floor. They gave off a toxic blue glow, throwing pale shadows over mysterious movements in the tunnel.

“The Vigil Priestess says to cleanse the shrine, we need to give Wolverine offerings.” Jhavi jerked a thumb at the meager collection of offerings layed out nearby.

“Let me guess,” Rook said, “Wolverine’s altar is in there.”

“Right in the middle, unfortunately.”

“You ready for this, Braham?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Rook picked up one of the offerings from the pile. “Right, let’s get to it, then.”

They each picked up an offering and pressed their way into the darkness. The first thing that struck Glaw was the smell. It smelled of decay, putrid rot, and poison. The mushrooms made Glaw’s head spin if he got too close, and his stomach churned with the concoction of smells. His hand strayed to where his helmet hung from his belt, and he pulled the mask over his face. It didn’t do much against the smell, but the nausea from the spores abated a little.

The first corridor passed easily enough, although Glaw couldn’t shake the feeling of something  _ else _ . Watery lamplight showed the way into the second corridor.

As they rounded the corner, Glaw stopped cold. The others did too, and Glaw bumped unceremoniously against Braham’s back. A spectral form of a boneskinner stared them down with wispy-green eyes. Its jaw chittered a familiar sound, and Glaw’s shoulder ached despite the absent wound.

“Back up, slowly. Get to the lamp light.” Rook hissed. They each took an agonizing step back. In turn, the boneskinner stepped forward. Glaw’s heel passed into the lighted area, and the muscles in the creature’s haunches tensed. Glaw held his breath.

With an ear-splitting shriek, the boneskinner pounced. Glaw grabbed Braham’s shoulder and yanked him back. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jhavi do the same to Rook. They stumbled back into the lamp light, falling into a heap on top of one another. The boneskinner landed just outside the light’s circle. It chittered and trilled in clear annoyance. It prowled a tight circle around them before giving up and stalking off in the opposite direction.

They sat there in their tangled pile for a moment, breathing heavily. Glaw’s legs were pinned beneath Braham, and Jhavi was nearly sat on his shoulder with Rook splayed in her lap.

“Well, I hope Wolverine doesn’t mind if his offering is a little squished.” Rook joked. A weak burble of laughter passed between them, and they untangled themselves. Glaw brushed debris and leaf matter off his shoulders and helped Jhavi stand. He wondered with morbid curiosity what would have happened if the spectral boneskinner had laid a claw on them.

The beast in question was nowhere to be seen, although the unnerving sensation from earlier was absent for now. Tentatively, they crept from the light’s safety. They rounded the corner into the last dark corridor, the faint shape of the boneskinner prowling away from them. Wolverine’s shrine was barely visible.

Rook held up a hand, her fingers slowly ticking down. Her index finger folded, and they filed out of their position. Each of them breathed out a heavy breath as they entered the safety of the central chamber. In the center, Wolverine’s shrine sat lonely and cold, covered in moss and vine.

Glaw placed his offering at the foot of the shrine, and the others followed suit. The muttering of Braham’s prayer broke the silence of the air.

Wolverine Spirit rose slowly, crawling from beneath the weight of vines crushing his shrine. He looked from his shrine to Braham, blinking slowly. If Glaw knew any better, he would say they had just awoken Wolverine from a long sleep.

“You,” Wolverine Spirit rumbled, “you are the one who would stand against the ice dragon’s champion?”

“I’m Braham Eirson.” There was a note of pride in Braham’s voice that had been missing before. “And I’ll do more than stand against it. I’ll slay it.”

Wolverine Spirit hummed. “Yet you struggle to stand even before me. I can see your spirit, your valor, what little you possess. So much doubt…”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

Rage tinted Braham’s words. Glaw edged a glance at his face.

“You fight only for yourself,” Wolverine Spirit said churrishly, “you have no courage. Only selfishness.”

“I fight with others now. The Commander, Rytlock, Crecia, Jhavi--all the others.”

“You fight  _ for  _ them, not with them.” Wolverine almost sounded bored. He sniffed over the offerings, his whiskers twitching at the squished contents. “You wish to impress, to prove yourself out of nothing but fear.”

“Maybe so.” Glaw whipped his head up at the acceptance. The rage was gone from Braham’s face, replaced with something akin to understanding. “You’re right, I do want to prove myself. I want to earn my legend. My doubts aren’t a weakness, though. They push me to be stronger, better, because I know I can be.”

Wolverine Spirit stopped, considering Braham. “Perhaps you are right, Eir’s son. Fine. You have my valor. Fight where I have failed. Earn your legend.” Wolverine dipped his head and disappeared back into the cracks in the shrine.

A few beats of silence passed. Glaw rolled his jaw. “In the short time I’ve known you, Braham,” he said slowly, tentatively, “I think you’ve proved yourself more than enough.”

He met Braham’s eyes for a split second before dipping his gaze. It wandered to the labyrinth around them. The darkness of the corridors seemed to have vanished, along with the lingering stench and the putrid mushrooms. The others noticed, too, muttering in confusion and relief.

The path back to the clear sky beyond was unimpeded, and the sight of snow was almost welcome.

“Well, that’s the last shrine. What next?”

“We take down Drakkar.” Jhavi said. “We should head back to Still Waters Speaking. I think Cloudseeker had some ideas.”

Whatever Cloudseeker’s private counsel was, it didn’t include Glaw. He sat beside the village fire again, trying to ignore the stares the kodan were giving him. Jormag’s voice had been mostly absent during the trials, but they were back with a vengeance now.

_ ‘Try as you might, you cannot please them. You see that now, don’t you. They will use you until you are no longer helpful. You will break, and they will toss you aside. With me, you will never be without purpose. Come, dear child… come back to me.’ _

Glaw looked at where the others had disappeared, swallowing hard. The memory of Balur’s burnt, disfigured body rose in his mind, and he clenched his icy fist. He tried to drown out the Dragon’s whispering.

“Glaw.”

Glaw jerked his head up at his name. Braham approached him, a near mirror to that morning. Behind Braham was Rook. Both of them were eyeing him warily. Glaw straightened, beginning to get to his feet. “Are we--?”

“Jhavi and some Vigil soldiers are going to push Drakkar from the lake into the mountains.” Rook said, holding up a hand. “We are going to talk.”

A cold lump settled in Glaw’s stomach. The others sat across from him, and Glaw fell back into his seat. He placed his head in his hands, running fingers through his hair.

“We need the truth, Glaw,” Rook pressed. “What’s going on?”

“I--” Glaw stammered. He swallowed and raised his head, flicking his gaze between Rook and Braham. “I hear Jormag…” He began.

There was silence, so he continued.

“Near constantly. The corruption on my arm…” He flexed the frozen digits. “It seems to amplify the Dragon’s power.” He left out the part where it also amplified his own.

He drew in a breath as an ache jackknifed up the frozen limb. Whether from the fire’s heat or Jormag’s meddling, he couldn’t tell.

“And?” Rook prompted.

“And I’m losing time.”

The admittance escaped him like a pump in the gut.

Rook’s sharp gaze met his. He didn’t miss the concern in her expression, though. “How so?”

“This morning…” Glaw’s fingers worked at the frozen knuckles of his other hand. “When I… attacked Braham. I dreamed that I was back when I first encountered Jormag, when I was working with the Svanir. The dream faded, but I was still there, back then. I didn’t realize till… after.”

Glaw dared a look at Braham. The other norn looked conflicted.

Rook was painfully silent, and unease carved itself a hole in Glaw’s chest.

“Are you going to be okay?” Rook asked finally.

“What?” Glaw said dumbly.

“Are you going to be okay, going against Drakkar? The whispers will be strongest there. We don’t need you going rogue on us.”

Glaw stared at Rook, stunned. His mouth ran dry, and he swallowed before speaking hoarsely. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. I can do it. I need to.”

Rook’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “I know.”

Warmth spread in Glaw’s chest, replacing the unease. He returned the smile.

“I will get you back.”

Braham’s deadpan voice dropped the smile off Glaw’s face. He turned and looked at Braham. “What…?”

Wordlessly, Braham tapped the still-bandaged patch of ice-burnt skin on his chest. “I will get you back, when you’re least expecting it.”

Slowly, Glaw noted the mischief twinkling in Braham’s eyes, a quiet grin turning his lips. Braham clapped him on the shoulder warmly.

The moment was broken by Jhavi’s voice crackling over the comms. ‘Commander.’

“What is it, Jhavi?” They all stood as Rook answered the comm.

‘We did it.’ Jhavi sounded breathless, excited. ‘Drakkar’s on the run. Cloudseeker and I will handle things here--you should head to the cave.’

“Excellent work, Jhavi.”

A solemn, steady reply came through the static.

‘Good luck, Commander.’

They were saddling up the skyscales when another crackling voice spouted from the comm line. ‘Commander, come in!’

“Crecia? What’s going on?”

Rytlock’s voice broke in before Crecia could reply. ‘Bangar and Ryland broke away from the army. They’re heading straight for Drakkar!’

There was a shuffling on the line, and Crecia spoke again, although Glaw could make out Rytlock’s worried muttering.

‘Commander, at least tell me you’ve got a plan to kill this thing…’ Crecia growled.

Rook sighed, pulling Ace’s saddle tight. “We’re cornering Drakkar in a cave, south of the lake. Let’s hope we can finish it off before Bangar gets there.”

Crecia growled again, and there was muffled yelling on the other side of the line. Rytlock ground out, ‘We’ll meet you inside,” and the line cut off into silence.

Rook mounted Ace, pulling Braham up behind her. Glaw hoisted himself onto Frigg and nudged the fidgeting skyscale forward. He looked at Rook.

“Here goes nothing,” She said. She set her mouth in a firm line and tapped her heel against Ace’s flank. Ace spread her wings and took to the sky. Glaw went to follow, but a voice slipped into his ears like ink.

_ ‘This is your last chance, child. Do not squander it.’ _

Glaw faltered. He tensed, listening for more of Jormag’s purr, but nothing but the wind roared in his ears. He drew in a shuddering breath, looking up at the speck in the sky that was Rook and Braham; they were waiting for him.

_ Last chance. _

Cold dread coiled in the pit of Glaw’s stomach.


	12. Chapter 12

Jhavi and Cloudseeker were waiting for them at the mouth of the cave. Jhavi raised her hand in greeting as they landed and they slid off the skyscales’ backs.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us, Jhavi?” Rook asked as they approached the pair.

Jhavi shared a glance with Cloudseeker. “Cloudseeker and the kodan need me here. You have your mission, I have mine. Just break Drakkar.”

“Gladly.” Braham rumbled.

“We’ll need to be quick.”

Glaw looked up as Crecia and Rytlock walked up, snow coating their fur.

“Bangar and Ryland could be here any minute.” Crecia continued. She looked up, taking in the cave.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Rytlock growled and started into the cave.

Glaw watched as his companions followed. He lingered at the mouth, turning over Jormag’s words again. He nodded to Jhavi and Cloudseeker and plunged himself into the icy maw.

He quickly caught up with the others. They were talking between themselves in hushed whispers; the faint noises bounced off the walls in eerie tones, distorting and drawing out the sounds.

Rytlock looked up sharply as a wail bounded from deeper in the cave.

“It’s in here…” Braham said.

A faint whisper brushed past Glaw’s ears, and he stopped mid step. Crecia turned and looked at him before turning her eyes to the Commander. “What does the Commander want…?” She murmured.

“Crecia,” Braham warned, “don’t listen to it. It’ll only get stronger the farther we go.”

Crecia’s ears flicked. “I… I know. I’m sorry. I just need a moment. Let’s keep moving.”

The cave spiraled farther on, the only light the faint flickering of Rytlock’s flaming sword and the dull glow coming from the icy walls.

A dark shadow shuddered through the ice overhead, making the entire tunnel squeak shrilly.

“Drakkar!” Braham shouted, breaking into a run. “After it!”

The tunnel widened as they ran. The ground underfoot grew slicker the deeper they burrowed, changing from mush and dirt to ice and rock. Glaw nearly lost his footing as Drakkar darted around a bend in the ice.

Drakkar’s shadow disappeared again, and they came to a stumbling halt in a broad cavern. Heavy breaths were the only sound echoing through the air.

Another whispering sigh wafted past, and this time, Glaw could make out a few of the words.

_ ‘...when you know words will suffice?’ _

_ ‘Maybe you should listen…’ _

“Maybe we should…” Rytlock muttered.

“Rytlock!” Rook protested.

Rytlock grumbled. “Why’ve we stopped? We should keep moving.”

“Drakkar is--”

The dark shape bolted across the cavern’s wall, delving ever deeper.

“--on the move again. Let’s go.”

Glaw had barely gotten his breath back, the chill in the stagnant air biting his lungs, but they were moving again.

As the group came to an abrupt halt, Glaw narrowly avoided running into Rook and bowling the small sylvari over. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath, looking around the cavern they were now in. All of the walls were iced over, leaving them in a verifiable dead end.

More of Jormag’s whispers washed over the group.

_ ‘I can open a way… if all you want to do is speak…’ _

“A parley?” Crecia asked to the open air, approaching one of the frozen walls.

Rook grabbed her arm before she could get too far. “We have nothing to say to you!” She shouted.

“Stop talking to it!” Braham snapped.

“We’re not.” Rook reassured. “Crecia, can you get us through?”

“The ice is too thick. Not much I can do--unless…”

“What’re you thinking, Cre?”

“Hm,” Crecia hummed, “Rytlock, draw Sohothin. Hold it up and stand still. If I can focus my magic into the blade…”

“Never mind, I don’t think I like this plan…” Rytlock rumbled, but he drew the sword nonetheless.

Glaw watched with lidded fascination as Crecia focused a blast of magic against the blade’s flaming face. A hot beam reflected from the two, sizzling a hole in the icy floor.

Rytlock danced back from the beam. “Whoa!” He tilted the blade up, melting through the icy wall and revealing a path that led deeper. “Guess I don’t hate it anymore.”

The new path descended at a gentle slope. The floor changed to just rock, although the walls were still thick, green-blue ice. Any small noise warbled oddly across the uneven surfaces. Each tiny click and whisper sent a shiver up Glaw’s spine. The path spit them out into a cavernous vault of ice; pale blue light filtered in through the back wall.

“Braham,” Rook’s voice echoed around the large space, “you ready for this?”

For the first time since confronting the Spirits, Glaw heard uncertainty in Braham’s tone. “Don’t know. Wolf Spirit made it sound like I was.”

“Quiet!” Crecia suddenly snapped. “Where’s Drakkar?”

A large shadow drifted past them; there was a faint sound of cracking ice.

“Dammit, it’s in the walls.” Rytlock growled, gripping Sohothin tightly.

Glaw spun in a slow circle, watching Drakkar lazily drift through the sheets of ice. “We have to draw it out of the ice.”

“Then we’ll melt it out.” Rytlock hefted his sword. “Crecia--Crecia?”

“If we kill Drakkar, then what? Who’s next?” Crecia’s arm went slack at her side. Glaw heard Jormag’s saccharine purr in her words. “You’d kill Bangar, then Ryland… Then all the legions to stop Jormag.”

“Damnit, Crecia, focus!” Rook’s order washed uselessly over Crecia.

“Ryland…” 

Glaw glanced at Rytlock. The charr tightened his grip on Sohothin, but his attention was pinned on the Commander now. “All this time, you were planning to kill him. I trusted you!”

Rook barely dodged the beam of burning light that sprung from the raised Sohothin and Crecia’s magic. She hooked a hand around Glaw’s arm and tugged him. “I hope you’re still in your right mind.” She hissed in his ear.

“For the moment, yes,” Glaw said, dancing back from the sweltering beam.

“Good. Look alive.”

“Commander, the walls! Use the beam to melt the walls!” Braham shouted from the other side of the cavern. “Once Drakkar’s out, I’ll summon the Spirits! Just don’t die!”

“That’s the plan!” Glaw shouted in return. He tugged at Rook’s elbow, pulling her back as the beam licked at them again.

“That one, over there.” Rook nodded at the icy wall where Drakkar’s shadow hovered menacingly.

“Let’s go.” Glaw ducked under the scorching magic, wincing as the light singed his cloak and burned at his corrupted arm. Rook followed him, yelping under her breath as the beam glanced across her skin.

Glaw looked back at her. “You alright?”

“Fine.” Rook said through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

Glaw nodded and pressed on. He reached the slab of ice and peered up at where Drakkar still lurked.

_ ‘Just a child… Innocent… You have much in common.’  _ Jormag sounded almost… mournful.

“Glaw.”

How much responsibility did Drakkar have in this mess? Was this any better than killing a child? Something senseless and innocent?

“Glaw!”

Glaw blinked, looking to Rook. The beam of magic was leering closer, sizzling and snapping at the icy floor. He waved off Rook’s concerned stare. “I’m fine. Get ready.”

The beam was nearly on top of them. The ice at Glaw’s back grew slick, water beading on the chilled surface.

“Now!” Rook leapt aside as the beam arced towards them. Glaw rolled away. There was a splintering crack, and the icy wall split asunder, melting furiously under the intensity of the magic beam. Glaw rose from his crouch slowly, watching as half of Drakkar’s monstrous body slipped from the ice like a fish through water. He backed away, momentarily forgetting about Rook and the two furious charr.

His attention was snapped back when Rook shouted, “Glaw, a little help!”

She was locked in combat with Rytlock and Crecia, daggers drawn. A strange green mist danced around her, and her eyes glowed a vibrant green instead of amber.

Glaw summoned an icy dagger. He rushed at the two charr, ducking under a stray swipe that Crecia threw at him.

“Just put them out of commission.” Rook breathed at him between strikes. “Try not to hurt them too badly.”

Glaw’s only answer was a grunt as Sohothin swung over his head, singing a few hairs as it went. The ice in his hand thickened into a blunt shape. Not thick enough to cause anything mortal or permanent, but hopefully thick enough to get through Crecia’s skull. As Crecia raked a wayward paw at Rook, Glaw took his chance and slammed the rod of ice against her temple. Crecia crumpled.

Rytlock struck at Glaw with a gravely roar. The breath wheezed out of Glaw as Sohothin carved across his right arm. The flaming blade only skittered across the corruption, but the pain was blinding. Glaw fell to his knees; his good hand hovered over the throbbing wound, fingers trembling.

He wasn’t sure how long he was kneeling there in the half-melted ice puddled on the floor, but Rook’s fingers curling into his shoulder roused him. Rook muttered a few unintelligible words, and the pain alleviated enough for Glaw’s head to clear. He rocked back on his haunches, dazedly looking at Rook. “What’s…” He waved at his own eyes, indicating her glowing green own. “What’s this.”

“Soulbeast.” She said as an answer and nothing more. She held out a hand, and Glaw took it, letting her pull him to his feet. “You fit to fight?”

Adrenaline replaced the rest of the pain still sinking its fangs into his arm. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a moment.”

“We may not have a moment.”

“Rytlock, Crecia?”

“Down, but not for long.” Rook said, looking up at where Drakkar still loomed half out of the ice. “Braham, now!”

Glaw raised his hand against the burst of light that suddenly filled the cavern. Out of the corner of his eye, he made out the faint apparitions of Ox, Eagle, and Wolverine. An ear-shattering shriek rent the air, making Glaw’s ears ring. When Glaw lowered his hand, he found Drakkar slumped against the ground and Braham kneeling just before its muzzle.

Glaw shook off Rook’s hovering hand and half-limped to Braham’s side. The other norn rose slowly, his eyes not leaving Drakkar.

“Is it…?”

“Yeah, I think it worked. How are…?” Braham finally turned away from Drakkar, looking to where Rytlock and Crecia were curled. He approached them; Glaw followed.

“Out for now. They’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Glaw studied Braham’s face. “Are you… alright?”

Braham met his gaze. “Yeah, it’s just… ah…”

“Braham?” Rook looked up from where she was tending Rytlock and Crecia.

“Nothing, never mind--”

“Working with the lost Spirits of the Wild? You mortals truly are brilliant creatures…”

Glaw spun on his heel, his hackles raising. Horror rose like bile in his throat as a long, winding creature slunk out of the ice behind Drakkar’s body.

“Jormag…?” The name hissed from his lips before he could stop himself.

The creature looked down at itself, hands spread apart in a mock bow. “This is but a piece of me. An ambassador. The whisper that spreads my words.”

“Then that’s what we’re going to kill.” Braham growled.

Rytlock and Crecia stirred behind Glaw. “Our words… are not our own.” Crecia muttered.

The Whisper of Jormag slithered closer to their huddled group. “We do not need to fight. You’ve already proven your strength. Braham…”

Braham stiffened.

“You earned all three of the Spirit’s blessings, and yet… you are still just a norn.”

“What?”

“Braham, don’t listen to it. Shut it out.” Rook said.

Glaw’s heart hammered in his throat as the creature lurked just out of reach. It’s inky eyes lingered on him before flicking back to Braham.

“It was Wolf, wasn’t it? Said you could take their power, maybe even become Wolf yourself. But look at you, still nothing special.”

“I… I…” Braham stammered. “Just… a norn.”

“Braham…” Glaw finally found his tongue. “Don’t trust it.”

“Your whole life, you’ve tried to become Wolf, but never could. But I--I want to help you. Please, let me give you power.”

The promise echoed through Glaw’s head; it sounded nauseatingly like the promise Jormag had given him months ago on that cliffside. He clenched his icy fist.

“That power won’t give you anything.” He warned. “It won’t help you. It’s only for Jormag’s gain.”

The Whisper of Jormag’s eyes snapped to Glaw. The lidded slits blinked at him slowly. “You,” it purred, drawing closer. Glaw glanced at Braham; panic struck him when he noted the dull look in Braham’s eyes. The creature’s breath billowed in Glaw’s face, sickly sweet.

“You, dear child,” The Whisper of Jormag said, “I have given you so much, and yet you still fight against me…”

Glaw swallowed thickly. The blood rushed in his ears, drowning out everything but the creature’s voice.

“Do you not remember how much I have helped you? Kept you  _ safe?” _

A memory blinded Glaw, pulling at his senses like a lulling dream. He tried to fight it. He tried. But he was tired, so tired…


	13. Chapter 13

They had been searching for days, but luck was not on their side. The snow pulled heavily at their boots, and the stormy weather did not want to relent. Their companions were doing little better. The only thing pushing them on, keeping them from turning back, was the rage still boiling in their veins.

One of their own had been slain. For the others, a friend, a companion, a brother. For Glaw, a father.

The thought steeled Glaw’s resolve, and they turned over their shoulder to shout against the wind at their companions. “We can’t be far now! The tracks look fresher!”

Grumbles and shouts of acquiescence arose from behind them. Glaw looked back to the large tracks spread out in front of them.

The next seconds passed in a sickening blur. A shriek split the air. An enormous griffon launched itself from the treeline, and the group of warriors behind Glaw scattered like rabbits. They shouted hoarsely, trying to get the others to regroup--to create some sense of order. But they were as mad at the beast attacking, consumed by their rage and hatred for their enemy.

The same rage pounded in Glaw’s veins, singing at them to draw their sword and join their fellow norn in slaying the beast. Their fingers curled around their sword’s hilt. Flames sparked at their fingertips. They pulled the blade free of its sheath, and they charged the griffon with a guttural bellow.

Something slammed into their chest, knocking them away. Their breath wheezed from their lungs. Their sword flew out of their grip, the fire that licked up its blade extinguishing as it fell into the snow. Glaw landed on their back; the sky reflected a somber gray above them.

The sounds of battle still rang around them, but they couldn’t move. Something was wrong. The pain reared its head slowly, spreading like a chill through their nerves. It throbbed, each beat of their heart swelling the pain. Warm blood trickled down their arm. It coated the snow-soaked fur of their sleeve and dripped down between their fingers.

A memory of their father, laid out on a bed of willow branches, flashed before their eyes. Their father looked serene in death, although horribly pale. Sallow. The smell of incense and herbs covered up the taste of rot. The fine furs covered up the jagged hole torn in his chest. Most of his face was shrouded in cloth, too marred by the griffon’s claws to be presentable. The vision ended in fire consuming the pyre, rising high in choking smoke.

Maybe Glaw would meet the same fate, laid out in the numbing snow as their father had been. Their right arm was all but torn free from its socket by the griffon’s talons. Blood pooled from the wound, staining the white world around them a horrible, deep red.

The sounds of fighting had faded. It was replaced by the dying breaths of their companions--nothing but ragged, punctuated gasps. And then silence.

The stormy sky above disappeared behind the blood-stained muzzle of the griffon as it leered over Glaw.

Soul’s Ender. The mad griffon. Beast and begetter.

Glaw met its pale eyes. Talons curled over their shoulders, the tips painting themselves in their blood. Glaw panted out a breath, struggling to keep their eyes open. They wanted to die staring into the soul of the beast who undid them; _ Spirits grant them that, at least. _

There was a dying wail, but it was not their own. The weight of the beast left their chest. Out of the corner of their eye, they watched the griffon topple over the lip of the nearby cliff. Its shriek echoed across the ridge.

Glaw tried to see their savior, but their eyelids were growing heavier by the second. They gurgled a few unintelligible words in their throat. Soft whispers quieted them.

The pain in their arm lessened. Numbness spread like ice through the limb. They lulled into blissful darkness.

A sharp-barked order shattered the memory like glass, and Glaw jolted out of his stupor.

“On your feet, soldiers!”

He was back in the cave where they had defeated Drakkar. The Whisper of Jormag still lingered, although its attention was now drawn to the two new charr who had entered the chamber. Glaw could only assume it was Bangar and Ryland, the charr they had been chasing since the beginning.

“Commander!” The charr’s muzzle twisted up into a toothy grin. “I think it’s time we kill ourselves a dragon champion.”

“No!” Crecia was back on her feet. She looked horrified, looking between Bangar, Ryland, and the Whisper of Jormag. “Fall back!”

Neither of the new arrivals paid her any mind. Bangar went straight at the Whisper of Jormag, firing fiery arrows at the beast. “Let’s rip this bastard apart! Claws out, soldiers!”

A heavy hand landed on Glaw’s shoulder, and he looked up to see Braham, thankfully less dazed then before.

“You okay?” Glaw muttered, watching as Bangar and Ryland attacked the Whisper of Jormag. Crecia and Rytlock gave the beast a few glancing blows, but their movements were reserved.

“Yeah, fine. You?”

“Been better.” Glaw shrugged off the rest of the hazy memory and drew his dagger. Despite Jormag’s words of peace, the creature was still fighting back with a vengeance. Fatigue gnawed at his bones as he launched himself at the Whisper of Jormag. Its slitted eyes grew thin as it watched him, anger clearly visible in the putrid depths.

Glaw lurched back as it lashed a clawed hand at him. The claws skittered across his frozen limb, leaving thin scratches behind. Glaw gritted his teeth and cut a gash across its chest. Black ichor bubbles from the wound, and the creature shrunk back. As it moved, an arrow pierced through its open mouth, and it collapsed with a gurgling hiss. Its tail lashed in violent death throes before it finally fell still.

Breathing heavily, Glaw sheathed his blood-stained dagger and stepped away from the corpse.

“Hear that?” Bangar’s voice broke across the silence.

“What?”

“Nothing… absolutely nothing. Blissful silence.” Bangar’s fangs glittered in the watery light.

“Where the rest of your army?” Rytlock pushed past Ryland, putting himself in Bangar’s face.

Bangar curled his lip, his muzzle nearly brushing Rytlock's. “The soldiers were weak. Drakkar was a threat to them. Couldn’t have it corrupting them, so we left them behind. Besides, we didn’t need them. We did what no norn could: defeated Drakkar. And now the dragon’s running scared.”

“Hey, we’ve been pushing back against Drakkar. You can’t just come swinging in here-- _ with my bow--”  _ Braham was close to getting into Bangar’s face as well. Anger twisted his face, and he made a grab for the bow.

Bangar held it out of his reach, putting himself behind Ryland. “Drakkar’s death at my hands sends everyone a message: I am Jormag’s champion now. I alone control the dragon!”

“That’s not how it works!” Rook’s voice cut through the sudden clamor. Rytlock and Crecia stepped aside as she marched toward Bangar. She pressed a finger into his chest, looking far more murderous than Glaw had ever seen her. “Jormag can’t be controlled!”

“Ryland, tell me you don’t believe this.” Rytlock gave up on Bangar, instead looking to the other charr desperately.

Ryland straightened. “My imperator gave us an order. I’m following it. Will you?”

“I can’t let you take credit. This needs to stop. Now.”

Glaw tensed, his breath catching in his throat. The tension in the air was electric; a storm was about to break.

Bangar blinked slowly at the Commander. He tilted his head as if considering her for the first time. “I couldn’t agree more.”

_ ‘Last chance.’ _

The saccharine words were heavy. They couldn’t have been real. Jormag’s whispers were gone. Yet the whisper echoing through Glaw’s head felt real enough. Like a promise.

The bowstring drew back slowly, a burning arrow knocked and aimed right at the Commander’s chest.

One last chance. Let the Commander die. His contract with Jormag would be complete. He could get his memories back. He would be free.

_ Last chance. _

As soon as Bangar let the arrow fly, a frozen wall sprang up between the charr and the Commander. The arrowhead touched the ice, and the ice shattered in a discordant cacophony. Glaw watched in horror as Rook fell back, an arrow sprouting from the center of her chest.

_ “NO!” _

The bellow was deafening, and Glaw wasn’t sure who it came from. It might have been himself. Rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach, and an icy blade grew in his hand. He didn’t get very far, though.

Braham beat him to the charr. The Braham he knew was gone, though. The strange burst of pride tasted odd mixed with the dizzying anger. A wolfish Braham with a bristling coat and glowing eyes bore down on Ryland. A pained scream echoed around the cavern.

Panicked shouts drew Glaw’s attention away from Braham. He hurried to Rook’s side, his stomach flipping as he took her in. Golden blood pooled from around the arrow shaft; the wooden skin around the wound was a charred black, faint wisps of smoke still rising from it.

Glaw crouched beside her, taking one of her limp hands. “C’mon, Commander…” He hissed. He glanced over his shoulder. Bangar was… gone, and so was Ryland, but a streak of dark blood trailed out of the cave. Glaw looked back to Rook as her fingers twitched weakly in his grip. “You’ll be okay. You have to be okay…”

He drew back as Rytlock and Crecia lifted her from the cold floor. She looked impossibly small in their arms, drenched in ochre.

She had to be okay. He couldn’t lose someone else.


	14. Chapter 14

Glaw rubbed at his knuckles, watching Braham wear a path in the stone underfoot as he paced. Rytlock and Crecia loitered nearby, whispering quietly amongst themselves. Jhavi had disappeared twenty minutes prior, claiming she needed some air.

The Hall of Monuments, they called the place. Glaw still wasn’t sure why, but the walls felt ancient. The ragged flagstones and mossy carpet attested to its age. Glaw hadn’t seen much more than that after delivering a dying Commander to the giant crystal dragon resting in the central chamber.

He felt stretched thin, his mind pulling in too many directions. Rook would be fine, the others reassured him; Aurene wouldn’t let her die. They kept murmuring that to themselves as well, and Glaw could tell they didn’t wholly believe it. He kept thinking back to the look Aurene had given him after the dust had settled and he had been making to leave the chamber. The dragon had pinned him with a stare, her gaze deep, intense. Powerful. Glaw understood why Bangar was afraid.

_ “I do not know you,”  _ Aurene had said.

Glaw’s nails bit into his hand.

“You’ll put a hole in it, doing that.” Braham said. His metronomic footsteps stopped.

Glaw looked up at him and then to the floor he had been pacing. “I’d say the same to you.”

Braham huffed and sat down beside him. He laced his fingers and balanced them on his knee. “She’ll be okay--”

"Braham, I know.” Glaw closed his eyes. He rested his head against the column at his back. The stone was cool and damp against the nape of his neck. “Words don’t help, though.”

Braham was silent for a beat. “I know.”

Glaw glanced at him. Without his armor, he looked smaller. Younger. Glaw knew he looked the same. His boot tapped against the wet pile of metal and cloth bundled beside him. His armor was still soaked through; the journey to the Hall had put them right through a storm.

“What…” Glaw began quietly, meekly. “What do we do now? Bangar has rallied the rest of the Legions to his cause, the Commander is…” He waved a hand towards the chamber where Rook was resting.

“I don’t know.” Braham’s tone was equally soft.

Glaw sucked in a breath. He pulled his hands apart and pushed off the ground. Braham’s stare followed him.

“Where are you going?”

“Don't know.” Glaw ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten longer in the past few weeks. He should cut it short again soon, he thought absently. “Somewhere else. Not here.” He turned and looked at Braham. He met his eyes. “Come with me?”

Braham looked at the arch leading to the central chamber. The air beyond was silent. Stagnant. “Yeah, sure.” He accepted his hand, and he pulled him upright.

They slipped out the Hall’s heavy doors. The night air outside was biting. Wet snow stuck to everything, but at least Glaw could breathe without a heavy weight settled on his chest.

He crossed his arms and hugged them close to his body. The jagged ice edging his corrupted arm dug into his side, but for the moment, he didn’t care. Glaw spied Jhavi in the distance; she stood across the open courtyard with her back pressed against a crystal spire, looking up at the roiling clouds and patches of stars.

Glaw dragged his own eyes up to the stormy skies. The clouds were a dark, bitter gray, but Glaw almost imagined a warmer breeze blew in from the East. Something in the air felt different.

Braham’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch. He drew in a tight breath.

“Are you…?” Braham began.

Glaw nearly jerked back from the touch as Braham’s hand came up to his face. Braham brushed his thumb delicately under Glaw’s eye, the pad coming away wet. Glaw swallowed thickly, and more tears trailed down his cheeks.

He didn’t know why he was crying. Why now? It was all going to be okay; they said it was going to be fine. He couldn’t be breaking. Not now.

Wordlessly, Braham pulled him into a tight embrace. Glaw curled into the warmth of Braham’s broad chest. Glaw’s shoulders shook silently as everything he had been shoving aside for weeks reared its head. The tremors eventually stilled, but he didn’t pull away. For the first time since falling asleep in the kodan village three nights prior, he felt safe.

“Thank you,” Glaw murmured once he found his voice. The words were muffled, and he almost thought Braham didn’t hear them.

“‘Welcome,” Braham said after a few moment’s hesitation.

Glaw closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath before finally pulling away. As soon as Braham’s touch was gone, he felt colder. He shivered, wishing for the heavier protection of his fur-lined armor.

He blinked his still-bleary eyes and scrubbed away the remaining tear tracks. Braham stood motionless and awkward opposite of him, and Glaw shifted as the air between them grew tense and uncomfortable.

“We should--” Glaw didn’t get to finish his sentence. A skyscale slammed into the stones beside him, nearly bowling him over. It wasn’t Frigg nor Ace, though; both of them were inside, curled up peacefully beside Aurene. This one was much larger, with sharp evergreen-colored scales. As Glaw stumbled back from it, it puffed steam at him, its slitted eyes fixing on him.

His heart hammered in his chest, and it nearly jumped into his throat when a charr suddenly leered in his face.

“Where is she?” The charr asked with bared teeth.

“In the central chamber, Sari.” Braham’s voice came from over Glaw’s shoulder. The charr, Sari, gave Glaw one last glance before hurrying into the Hall.

“What in the--?” Glaw’s words were cut off again, this time as a tall figure bowled into him. Before he could think, he threw his icy hand up. A burst of steam and ice radiated around him, and he was thrown backwards against the stony ground. There was the sour taste of ozone in the back of his mouth. Glaw pushed himself to his feet, one hand still held out towards the figure he had knocked away.

The figure--a young white-haired norn woman--was laid out on her back, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Spirits, Glaw, I know it’s been a while, but what in Bear’s name…”

Glaw stared at the white-haired norn. A lump swelled in his throat. “How… how do you know my name?”

Blurred memories and faceless dreams danced in the dark corners of his mind.

The norn stared at him, first with disbelief in her pale eyes and then sadness and fear. She climbed off the ground, slowly stepping closer to Glaw. Glaw’s raised hand wavered, but it still sparked with frigid fractals. The stranger looked at Braham.

Braham looked just as bewildered as the white-haired norn looked and as confused as Glaw felt. “You two know each other?” He asked.

“I… yeah?” The white-haired norn said as if it were obvious. She looked back to Glaw. “Glaw, it’s me. Bryn. Your sister.”

“My… sister.” Glaw said flatly.

Distantly, there was terror chiming like a warning bell. It coiled and thrashed in the pit of his stomach like a chained serpent, but the feeling was muted. Numb. The secret he had been covering up since the beginning--the one thing left he thought he had control of--was falling through his fingers like ash. Glaw swallowed.

“I don’t remember you.” Glaw’s voice cracked at the admittance. He edged a glance at Braham; Braham’s expression was unreadable, and anxiety gnawed at Glaw’s stomach.

“What?” Bryn said in disbelief.

“I don’t remember anything.” Glaw had imagined that truth would have been followed by the heavens splitting open, or at least a thundercrack. But nothing changed. If anything, the air got a little easier to breathe. “Not anything before Jormag found me.”

Bryn seemed to notice his corrupted arm for the first time. Her expression grew stricken. “What happened to you?”

Glaw opened his mouth, but Braham spoke for him. “We fought a corrupted fraenir in Bjora Marches. The fight went sideways and Glaw was hit by one of Jormag’s shards.”

Braham was staring at Glaw, not Bryn. Glaw tried to puzzle out the look behind his eyes. Braham blinked and looked away before Glaw could figure it out. Glaw dropped his gaze to the rocky ground instead, unable to shake the feeling of being chastised.

“And you’re not… icebrood?” There was trepidation in Bryn’s voice, and Glaw raised his head.

“I still have my own voice.” Glaw said. Through the panic and worry swelling like nausea, he felt indignation creeping through flushed cheeks up his face. Unconsciously, he clenched the icy fist.

He wasn’t aware of the sharp static and tang in the air until Bryn threw up her hands in a surrendering gesture. “Okay, I believe you. I’m glad. I just got my little sibling back, I’d… hate for you to be a bloodthirsty ice monster.” Her tone was lighthearted, but it plucked a little tightly at the end.

Glaw’s hackles fell. He stared at Bryn, an uncomfortable lump of emotions brewing behind his sternum. “That would be bad, yeah…” He said lamely.

At that, Bryn cracked a smile. She cleared her throat and flicked a finger between Glaw and Braham. “So, aside from the Jormag situation, how’d Glaw get tangled up in your crew’s mess?”

“I tracked down the Pact,” Glaw said before Braham had the chance to answer, “and offered my internal knowledge of the Svanir to help fight against Jormag.” It still wasn’t the whole truth. But it was the truth the others knew. Despite it all, things still felt fragile between him and the others. He was terrified of shattering it, and the full truth, he knew, would be the hammer to do it.

He didn’t miss the way Braham fixed him with a piercing stare. For a moment, he was afraid he had already broken their trust. Again.

“Jormag  _ and  _ the Sons of Svanir. Spirits, Glaw, you disappear for three months and got yourself mixed up in all this?” Bryn’s voice came as a savior.

“I was gone for three months?” Glaw thought back to the last memory Jormag had thrown at him. His father’s death must have been recent, painfully so. The memory of his loss throbbed like an open wound, even if two days ago, Glaw had known nothing of it.

Glaw started as a hand clapped his shoulder. For once, it wasn’t Braham. Bryn stared at him intently. “You okay?”

Glaw waved her off. Her touch lingered, and she reluctantly pulled away. “I’m… fine. It’s just a lot.”

“I can imagine,” Bryn huffed. She looked at the Hall of Monuments spanning the mountainside behind them. “Care to fill in the gaps?” She gestured towards the Hall. An invitation.

“Yeah.” Calm resignation wasn’t what Glaw had been expecting to hear from Braham. He was prepared for anger, or silence, but not calm. “I think the others need to hear this, too. Clear the air.”

Glaw looked at Braham. His expression was still unreadable, but Glaw imagined it was a little softer than before. Glaw dipped his head and started back for the Hall.

His steps felt increasingly heavy as he walked towards the antechamber. As soon as they had poked their heads back inside the doors, Sari had reappeared and told them Rook was awake and wanted to speak with them.

The main chamber was still blindingly brilliant as it had been before, and Aurene was just the same. The dragon watched them all shuffle into the chamber, and Glaw felt hot under her stare.

Rook sat on the dais over the small pond, her legs dangling over the ledge and nearly kissing the water. Her torso was wrapped in white bandage, but she no longer looked on death’s door. She looked up from the rippling surface as they entered.

“Commander, you’re alright.” Rytlock spoke first.

Rook gave him a wry smile. “You of all people should know a near-death experience can’t stop me, Rytlock.”

Rytlock chuckled. Braham held up a hand. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“A story for another time.” Rook said. She stood slowly, waving away Sari’s help as the charr came to her side. “What happened? With Bangar and Ryland? Aurene’s told me a little, but she said I should hear it from you.”

“They got away,” Crecia said, “but Braham went Wolf, so they won’t be trying anything any time soon.”

“You did what?” Rook turned her attention to Braham.

Braham rubbed at the nape of his neck. “I… might have become Wolf, finally.”

Rook grinned. “See, I knew you had it in you, Braham.”

“Enough of the praise,” Rytlock huffed. “There’s bad news, too. There’s been no word about Ryland, but Bangar’s been busy while he licks his wounds. He’s rallied the rest of the Legion, saying that he defeated Drakkar and now controls Jormag. And that you attacked him. Most of the idiots are believing him.”

Rook wrinkled her nose. Her eyes landed on Bryn in the crowd, and her brow raised in surprise. “Bryn, what are you doing here?”

Bryn’s hand clapped on Glaw’s shoulder. “Accompanying Sari. And you found my--” Her eyes flicked to Glaw inquiringly.

“Brother.” Glaw said.

“--brother. Dumbass has been missing for three months.”

Rook considered Glaw. “You two are related? And  _ missing? _ ”

Glaw closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, feeling the everyone’s stares land on him. “When I… told you about my missing time, it wasn’t the whole truth,” he began. “I woke up in the snow with no memories. From then, I gained Jormag’s favor and got in with the Svanir. Then I found you. I have no memory of anything before that except flashes and dreams.”

Silence reigned in the chamber. Glaw bit at his lip. He raised his head and met Aurene’s gaze. The crystal dragon watched him intently. “No memories and Jormag’s influence, and still you choose to be good,” she said. “This one is stronger than he looks.”

Glaw ducked his head, his cheeks flushing red. Rook’s quiet laughter echoed around the chamber. “I agree with Aurene.”

The tension eased out of Glaw, although his blush lingered. He had been expecting scorn and distrust. Not quiet acceptance.

Their peaceful reprieve didn’t last long. Jhavi reentered the Hall, her steps hurried. “Commander! Oh, you’re up, good. I just got word that Bangar is pushing into the Woodland Cascades.”

Rook’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that centaur land? What could Bangar want with them?”

Rytlock’s lip curled as he growled. “Probably hoping to strike up an allegiance with them. That or push them into one through fear.”

“Rytlock’s right.” Crecia said. “Kryta is at war with the centaurs right now. It would be easy to persuade the centaurs to his side if it meant stomping out the humans.”

Rook sighed. “So much for some rest and relaxation.”

Sari had been silent for most of the conversation so far. Her tail flicked, and she stared down Rook. “Commander, you need to rest.”

“Sari, I--”

“ _ Rook _ .” Sari ground out. “You just got  _ shot _ . In the chest, with a magical flaming arrow. Who knows what damage that’s done. Someone else can handle things for right now.”

Glaw hadn’t seen anyone stand against Rook besides Bangar or Jormag. But Sari was staring her down with such intensity, he wasn’t sure for once that Rook would come out on top.

The staring match stretched on for a few more seconds before Rook deflated. “Fine.” She said. “Glaw, Braham, you two go keep an eye on Bangar. Track his movements and report in anything suspicious. Don’t engage.”

Rook looked back to Sari who nodded approvingly.

“Commander.” Bryn cut in. “I know I’m not really part of this posse, but I’d like to tag along, too.”

Rook glanced at Glaw and then to Bryn. “Of course.”

Glaw looked at his sister. Bryn shrugged. “I just got you back. Not letting you go again that easily, Glaw.”

Glaw nodded, a small swell of warmth lighting in his chest.


	15. Chapter 15

The heavy clouds were cleared away by dawn of the next day, leaving the morning sky a washed-out blue-yellow. Frigg’s wings brushed at the low-lying mists hanging on the mountain peaks.

“How much farther?” Glaw shouted over her shoulder.

The pale green skyscale sidled up beside Frigg, carrying Bryn and Braham on its back. Bryn raised a hand to her eyes and peered against the heavy mists. “Can’t be far now. If the clouds would break, we’d be able to see the Cascades coming up.”

Glaw huffed under her breath and nudged Frigg a little lower into the cloud bank. Frigg rumbled beneath her. “Yeah, I know…” Glaw muttered. “We’re skirting a little close for comfort.”

The jagged ridge of a mountain whizzed by through a gap in the clouds; a few swirls of snow plumed off it as Frigg passed.

Frigg gave another discontented rumble.

Glaw patted Frigg’s neck comfortingly. She strained her eyes at the faint landscape below them. Every so often, the clouds would thin, and she could make out the distant, patchy shape of trees amongst the rocky crags.

Then, as if scooped out by a giant hand, the mountains fell away, dragging most of the clouds with it. A verdant landscape stretched beyond, trees as far as the eye could see. Glaw couldn’t keep her mouth from falling agape even as she pushed Frigg into a dive. Her eyes remained glued to the scene before her as the trees grew closer and closer.

As soon as Frigg touched the ground, Glaw slipped out of the saddle. Her heavy boots dimpled the grass beneath her, but her head was tilted skyward as she took in the monstrous height of the conifer trees.

“It’s so… green.” She said once she heard Braham and Bryn approaching behind her.

Braham gave her an odd look, but Bryn hummed in agreement. “Much greener than anywhere in the Shiverpeaks, that’s for damn sure.”

Glaw reluctantly dragged her eyes from the swaying treetops. She studied the dark treeline stretched before them. “So, where do we begin?”

“It’s an army of charr; how hard can it be to find?” Braham walked towards the trees.

Glaw tugged Frigg’s reins and started after him. She paused a moment and looked over her shoulder. The mountains stood impassive and gray behind her, their snow-capped peaks lost in the clouds. Her eyes lingered on the cold stone.

“You coming, Glaw?” Bryn shouted.

Glaw tore her eyes away. “Yeah.” She tugged at her collar while she walked. “Much warmer here, too.” Her icy arm throbbed at the thought, and she flexed her stiff knuckles.

“Yeah, until it rains, at least.” Braham said. “I’ve heard… well, they call it a rainforest for a reason.”

“A what now?” Glaw fell in step beside him. She shot him a curious look.

“A forest… where it rains, a lot--nevermind, you’ll see.”

Glaw huffed a laugh.

Bryn appeared at her right elbow, her eyes sweeping the cluttered landscape of trees and mossy undergrowth. “I guess we should try heading north. Bangar’s probably dragging his troops in through a pass from the Marches, so that’s our best bet.”

Glaw nodded, but she eyed her sister. “What is it exactly you do?”

Bryn looked at her. “Priory magister.” She said with an exaggerated wink. “Means I read lots of books and say big words to sound smart.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a big word.” Braham said.

“Antipolarity-radiosynergic thermal device.” Bryn rattled off.

“And what’s that?”

“Not quite sure,” Bryn hummed. “Some asuran death ray, I think.”

Glaw blinked owlishly at Bryn before giving her head a shake. She raised her gaze and studied the thin deer trail they were following. Lush ferns and moss-covered logs trailed across the path, and the trees stood silently like sleeping giants on either side.

Despite the humid warmth of the forest, Glaw suppressed a shiver. She couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her back. She glanced over her shoulder, tracing the track they had wound through the tangled undergrowth.

Braham caught her hesitation, his step faltering. “What is it?”

Glaw shook her head, doing her best to brush away the paranoia. “Nothing. Just not used to being this boxed in.”

The air was silent for a moment, and then Bryn spoke. “So you really don’t remember… anything?” There was a slight tremble to her voice that she tried to cover with a bold volume.

Glaw licked her lips. “I remember… how I got lost. And I remember Dad’s death.” She edged a glance at Bryn.

Bryn was tight-lipped, her stare straight ahead for once. “After Dad died, you went on the warpath against that beast.” She breathed a laugh, but it was mirthless. “I tried talking you down, Ma tried… but there was no stopping you. After you left, and no one had heard from you or your group for a week, we… thought you were dead. And when they found the others, well.”

Glaw’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Then you really thought it.”

Bryn gave a half nod. “But we couldn’t find _your_ body, so Ma refused to give up hope. She never really showed it, but it was slowly eating her up inside, wanting to go out and look for you herself.”

Glaw was stricken a moment, and she stopped mid step. “You…”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. I sent a raven before we left the Hall. She’s probably gotten the letter by now.”

Glaw managed a slow incline of her head and resumed her pace, but her head churned with thoughts. Bryn seemed painfully nonchalant about the situation.

Glaw cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, if that helps at all.”

“Kinda, yeah.” Bryn cracked a grin. “The whole thing was pretty knuckle-brained of you.”

Glaw snorted. She glanced at Braham, who was uncharacteristically silent. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Braham said, “yeah. Just… thinking, about what our next move is.”

The deer path in front of them widened, spitting them out into a small, mossy clearing. Glaw heard the quiet burbling of a creek nearby.

“Well, it’s past noon,” Bryn said. “I vote we take a rest here. Eat something. Then keep going north, follow the creek a ways.” She looked at Glaw. “How’s that sound? You’re the tracker, after all.”

 _She was?_ Glaw opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I, uh, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Great.” Bryn pulled her skyscale to the creek’s banks, letting the beast drink from the waters. She uncinched a pack from the skyscale’s saddle and threw herself down on a patch of moss.

Glaw watched her for a moment before guiding Frigg over to the creek as well. Cold water bubbled over pebbles and fallen leaves. Glaw dipped her hands into the water; the chill of the mountain meltwater soothed the ache in her corrupted arm, and she splashed some water on her face. Droplets trickled in rivulets down her hair and cheeks. She rocked back on her haunches before sitting down on the creek’s bank. She tugged off her boots and socks and Frigg nuzzled at her mussed hair.

Slowly, she dipped her feet into the creek, hissing as the cold water kissed her skin. The bite was also relieving, though, and the sharp chill faded into numbness.

Frigg settled behind her, and Glaw leaned back against her warmth. The air felt… calm. There was no dragon whispering in her ears, no blizzard blowing at her back, no creatures hunting her down. After the whirlwind the past two weeks had been, this felt like a dream. A good one, for once.

She freed a few pieces of jerky from Frigg’s saddlebags, feeding a few to the skyscale before gnawing on one herself. She watched a moth flit over the creek and alight on the bend of a fern frond.

A shadow fell over her, and Bryn dropped down beside her. Her sister wasted no time in prying off her boots and shoving her feet into the water as well. Bryn hummed in contentment, leaning back on her elbows. “You know,” she rumbled, “this isn’t too bad, actually.”

“It’s not.” Glaw agreed.

“I thought there’d be a lot more bashing and brawling and slogging through nasty forests. This almost feels like Caledon.”

Before Glaw could ask about the Caledon Bryn spoke so highly of, Braham’s voice rang around their small clearing. “Guys, I think we’ve got company.”

“And of course it couldn’t last…” Bryn groused and pulled her feet from the creek. Glaw followed suit, hastily pulling her boots back on. She rose and peered over the curve of Frigg’s back, the hair on the back of her neck rising.

Braham was backing away slowly with his hands raised as a strange creature emerged from the undergrowth. At first glance, it looked almost human, if not of a slightly more bestial nature, but below the waist it was a hooved creature.

“Pissing centaurs.” Bryn spat and stood. The centaur’s attention snapped to her, and the arrow he held on Braham wavered in between them. Glaw stayed in a crouch; the centaur didn’t seem to have noticed her yet.

“Who are you?” The centaur snapped, the arrow switching from Braham to Bryn.

“We’re just passing through on some business.” Braham said.

The centaur’s ear twitched back. “What business do norns have in the Cascades?”

“We’re looking for a large company of charr. Big, loud, brutish, a bit racist. Don’t suppose you’ve seen any?” Bryn cut in.

The centaur considered Bryn, the wavering arrow finally settling on her. “Maybe I have. And what business do you have with them?”

“They’re inciting war. That’s generally a bad thing, so we’re trying to stop it.”

“Just the two of you?”

Glaw saw Bryn’s eyes flick to her where she still crouched behind Frigg. “No, of course not. We’re just here to make sure they don’t try anything funny.”

“So you want nothing to do with the Lanaar?” The centaur tilted his head.

“Oh for… no, we don’t want to bother your tribe.” Bryn’s voice was dry with exasperation.

The centaur’s aim wavered before dropping.

Glaw took that as her cue to rise. She pushed off Frigg slowly, emerging from behind the skyscale. Instantly, the bow and arrow snapped to her. She balked, barely containing the magic that tingled at her fingertips. “Whoa!” She raised her hands. “I’m--I’m with them.”

The centaur’s nostrils flared. The bow lowered once more. “Three norn in the Cascades…” There was laughter in his tone, as if the thought amused him. He braced a hand to his chest and tilted his head. “I am Elranaii of the Lanaar tribe.”

Bryn hesitated a moment before mirroring his greeting. “Brynhildr Hroarkin.”

Braham introduced himself, and then all eyes turned to Glaw. She swallowed. “Glaw. Hroarkin.” The name tumbled awkwardly off her tongue.

Elranaii’s gaze flitted between her and Bryn before he nodded. “If you are tracking the charr army, perhaps you can help the Lanaar.”

Braham raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“The charr are loud and disrespectful to our home. Our territory. They take what they want and scare off anything they cannot catch or kill. They have only been in the forest for a day, and already the trees are silent of any game.”

Glaw shifted. “Like you said, we’re only three norn. How much can we do?”

Elranaii eyed her. “Help the Lanaar, and I will help you. I show you to the charr, and you help the Lanaar drive them off.”

Glaw, Bryn, and Braham shared a glance. “Hell, why not.” Glaw finally huffed.


	16. Chapter 16

Elranaii led them to the Lanaar’s main camp. Glaw kept throwing glances at the sky through the thick canopy as they walked. The sun was sinking lower and lower on the horizon, and the shadows of the forest deepened. Any progress they might have made finding Bangar and the charr had been lost. But, she considered as she slid over a fallen log, perhaps they never would have found the charr and been wandering circles in the forest.

The air seemed to get thicker as the day drew into night. Elranaii paused mid-step, his nose twitching. “It will rain soon,” was all he said, “we should hurry.”

“By all means, let’s.” Bryn grumbled, tugging at her skyscale’s lead. Froki, Glaw had learned his name was.

At Elranaii’s insistence and Bryn’s grumbling, they quickened their pace. Twigs and dried bracken fronds cracked under their heavy boots, and part of Glaw winced at the loud trail they were plowing through the undergrowth. If any of Bangar’s scouts were around, they surely would have heard them by now.

Eventually, Elranaii held up a hand for them to stop. In the distance, Glaw could make out the silhouettes of two centaurs. Elranaii approached them and made a gesture in their direction. The centaur guards lowered their weapons, and Elranaii waved their trio forward. “Come.”

The two guards eyed them warily as they passed through the camp’s gates.

“For now, you are my guests.” Elranaii said. “The Lanaar will not hurt you.”

“That’s comforting.” Bryn muttered. Glaw elbowed her.

“But my word for your honor only extends so far. If the chief decides to not let you stay, your safety is out of my hands.”

“Wait, so the chief doesn’t even know about this convoluted plan?”

Elranaii leveled Bryn with a look wavering between indignant and smug. “I am a great warrior of the Lanaar. And you are three norn. I am sure the chief will see reason.” He waved a hand towards the fire at the center of the camp. “Please, settle yourselves. I must speak with Chief Ighemm.” With a nod, Elranaii split away, disappearing farther into the camp.

Glaw watched him recede before starting for the fire. As she walked, she looked to Braham. “How do we always end up in these situations?” She asked with a faint touch of humor.

“The kodan and now this? Yeah, must be our good luck.” Braham said.

Glaw snorted. “Good luck. Definitely.”

As soon as the fire was within range, Frigg sprawled herself out in front of it. Glaw was surprised when Froki did the same, laying himself bodily over Frigg. Glaw raised an eyebrow at Bryn.

“They’re basically siblings. Grew up together, and you… don’t remember.” Bryn frowned and looked back to the pair of skyscales. “Spirits, you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Glaw hummed. “Yeah,” she said with a slight rasp to her voice. She watched the pair of skyscales a moment before sitting down beside the fire. She began working at the cinches of her armor, methodically pulling the pieces off.

Bryn sat down beside her, watching her work silently for a moment. She cleared her throat. “We’re in a potentially-hostile camp, and you’re stripping?”

Glaw’s cheeks burned, not just from the heat of the fire, and she tossed the last bit of armor aside with the others. “It’s hot,” was all she muttered. The inner layer of the armor was lined with fur; it was perfect for the frozen slopes of the Marches, but the humid air of the Woodland Cascades had her boiling even as nightfall dragged in cooler temperatures. She felt like her tunic was clinging to her, especially with the renewed heat of the fire. She tugged at her collar, not meeting Bryn’s eyes.

Bryn’s gaze shifted to the armor she had discarded. “Mom made that armor.” She said slowly. “For your twenty-first birthday, I think.”

Glaw followed her gaze, her eyes tracing the gold swirls and grooves carved delicately into the armor. At the moment, it looked a little worse for wear, the metal dented and dirty. The entire right gauntlet and glove was missing. Glaw wondered how it had looked before.

“It used to be a little big on you.” Bryn continued, warmth leaking into her tone. She swept her eyes over Glaw. “I didn’t notice earlier, but you’re nearly as tall as me, now. What did the Svanir feed you over there?”

“Why don’t you go ask them?” Glaw said.

Bryn punched her lightly in the shoulder. The air between them fell into amicable silence, but a thousand questions were now burning at the tip of Glaw’s tongue.

“Oh, shit, I nearly forgot.” Bryn said. She stood and unsheathed the sword strapped to her hip. “This is yours. It’s the only thing we found when we, well, thought you were dead.” Bryn passed the sword to Glaw.

Glaw took it wordlessly. The hilt fit comfortably in the curve of her palm, and the blade glittered a watery dark in the firelight. Glaw turned the sword in her hand, letting the fractals of light reflect across the blade’s every facet. Struck diagonally across the spine of the sword was a thin gash; Glaw could almost imagine the griffon’s claw gouging the metal.

Without warning, fire rippled up the blade. It flared and tapered at the tip and licked down to the pommel. The fire sizzled and popped at Glaw’s icy palm. With a yelp, Glaw dropped the blade. She hissed curses from between her teeth and held her scalded hand. As soon as the sword touched the ground, the flames extinguished. Glaw gave the sword a distrustful glare and turned her gaze to Bryn. “What the hell?!”

“I… well, it’s never done that before.” Bryn poked the sword with the tip of her boot. “How’s your hand?”

Glaw drew her hand back before Bryn could touch the corrupted flesh. Lances of pain shot up from her palm, and she clenched the icy fist tight. “It’s fine.” She bit out.

Bryn looked hurt, but she withdrew her hands. The look turned devious, and she nodded to where Braham was watching. “At least let your boyfriend have a look at it. He knows that kind of stuff, doesn’t he?”

Glaw sputtered, momentarily forgetting the pain in her hand as her face flushed red. Her ears burned. “Not my boyfriend.” She ground out, but the words felt futile.

Bryn gave her a shit-eating grin and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Glaw glared at her but rose nonetheless. Hopefully, the crackling of the fire had been enough to drown out Bryn’s words.

It was not. It was definitely not. Braham looked up as she approached, cheeks red and mouth open. Glaw fixed him with a glare, daring him to say something. He snapped his mouth shut. She cleared her throat and held out her hand. Braham’s touch was hesitant as he took it and uncurled her icy fingers. The frozen flesh whined and splintered, a buried heat throbbing deep in the palm of her hand. Glaw hissed through clenched teeth.

Slowly, the pain began to leech out under Braham’s touch. The scalded cracks on her palm remained, however. Glaw pulled her hand back as the throbbing disappeared. She flexed her fist.

“Better?” Braham asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Glaw said softly.

“What happened?”

Glaw looked back to where the sword laid innocently on the ground. “I… have no idea.”

“You’re an elementalist, right? You attune to elemental magic?”

“Yeah, but ever since _this_ ,” Glaw waved her corrupted arm, “I’ve only been able to channel ice magic.”

Braham looked between her and the sword curiously.

Elranaii’s return was marked by the shuffling of hooves against the forest floor. There were two other centaurs with him, a thin-faced male with black and white markings, and a wizened female, her silver hair pulled tight and braided over her shoulder.

Bryn stood as they approached and joined Glaw and Braham. The silver-haired centaur considered them and turned to Elranaii. “These are the three norn warriors?”

Elranaii dipped his head.

The silver-haired centaur flicked her ears. “Perhaps you can help us with the charr, as Elranaii has proposed. I am Chief Ighemm of the Lanaar Tribe.” She crossed her arm over her chest and flicked her hand towards the thin-faced centaur behind her. “This is Haran, my advisor.”

Haran eyed them warily, his eyes dark.

A crack of thunder split the silence, and the gentle patter of rain began to drench the camp.

Chief Ighemm looked up at the darkened sky. “We have much to discuss, but it is dark and stormy. You have walked far on your two legs. Come, eat with us, and then you can rest. The charr can wait till morning.” She turned and started for one of the large hide-stretched structures nearby.

“I dunno,” Glaw said to Bryn, “I think they’re alright.”

Bryn huffed. “C’mon, get your stuff so we can go eat.”

Glaw rolled her eyes and returned to the fireside. She gingerly picked up the sword with her good hand. It didn’t burst into flames this time; it sat in her palm calmly. She narrowed her eyes at the blade and strapped it to her belt. She bundled her armor in her arms and followed after Bryn and Braham.

The rain was pelting down around her and had nearly soaked her tunic through by the time she ducked into the shelter of the centaur tent.

A merry fire blazed in the center of the long hall-like structure, and a dozen centaurs were milling around, eating and chatting with one another. They stopped and stared once their odd trio entered, but their attention was quickly lost.

“Please, eat.” Chief Ighemm waved a hand at a beast roasting over the fire. A tantalizing smell wafted past Glaw’s nose.

“What is it?” Bryn asked suspiciously.

“Boar,” Haran said, “Why?”

“It’s…” Bryn looked at the meat. She shook her head. “Nevermind, forget it. Smells great.”

Elranaii drew a knife and carved a strip of meat off the boar belly. He offered it to Bryn. She took it and sniffed it before taking a bite of it. She looked to Glaw and Braham. “It is actually good,” she said.

Glaw accepted the meat Elranaii offered her next. She leaned against one of the tent supports and nibbled at her food. “So where have you seen the charr?” She asked Elranaii.

He shook his head. “It will be easier to show you in the morning. For now, eat, rest. You are in good company.”

Glaw leaned back against the pole, her eyes narrowing. She turned to Braham. “Does it feel like--”

“We’re being held here?” He laughed. “Yeah. At least they’re feeding us.”

Glaw’s lip ticked up in a smirk. “True.”

She finished her food and looked around the crowded tent. The smoke-filled air was thick and heavy with the smell of more roasting meat. She wrinkled her nose and pushed off the pole. She ducked past a drunk centaur and out of the tent.

The air outside was fresh and clean with the scent of rain. The scent itself was familiar, heart-tuggingly so, but Glaw couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen rain. It never rained in the Marches, only snowed. The taste of ozone filled the air as lightning illuminated the dark forest, and raindrops ran down Glaw’s cheeks as she turned her face towards the sky. She curled her hand into a fist, an energy jumping between her fingertips.

“You enjoy the rain?”

Glaw started as Elranaii’s voice sounded beside her. She looked to the centaur and inclined her head. “I guess, yeah. I’ve not… really seen it before.” She admitted.

Elranaii gave her a strange look.

“There’s, uh, lots of snow…” she explained, “where I come from.”

Elranaii nodded. “I see.” He turned his own face towards the dark sky. Water ran down his muzzle and dripped off his short beard. “Storms carry a strange power with their lightning and thunder. Strong and wild…”

Glaw returned his nod and looked into the shadowy boughs of the towering trees. Her eyes caught on _something_ high in the branches, and she froze. The hair on the nape of her neck tingled.

“You feel it, too?” Elranaii followed her gaze. “Something has been following us. Following you. It is not charr, nor any beast from this forest.”

Glaw blinked and stared harder into the treeline, but whatever she had briefly seen had vanished. “Huh,” she huffed. Unease crept up the length of her spine.

Elranaii’s hand touched her arm lightly, drawing her attention away. “Come, your companions have finished, I think. I will show you where you can sleep for the night.”

Glaw gave the stormy forest a last long glance. Another crack of thunder followed the flash of blue that illuminated the sky. The rain pounded down harder. She turned away from the forest and followed after Elranaii.


	17. Chapter 17

Glaw shifted for what must have been the tenth time that night. No matter how much she twisted and turned, she couldn’t get comfortable, and sleep continued to elude her. It had nothing to do with the simple mattress of straw and two lengths of fur beneath her; the bed was one of the more comfortable things she had slept on. Even though the thunderstorm had passed, leaving behind just the gentle pattering of rain on the roof overhead, an energy still brimmed in her veins.

She growled in frustration under her breath and rolled over again. She pressed herself deeper into the curve of Frigg’s belly. The skyscale huffed and twitched her tail. Glaw rested her left arm under her head as a makeshift pillow and watched the others sleep. No one else seemed to be sharing her insomnia. Bryn had gone out like a light, and Braham had drifted off soon after. Their soft breathing and quiet snores had accompanied Glaw into the early hours of the morning. Glaw rolled her frigid knuckles absently, her gaze bouncing from Bryn’s face to Braham’s. She watched as Braham breathed deeply and shifted in his sleep.

Glaw worked her jaw and averted her gaze. She pinned it to the stretched-leather roof above her and chewed at her lip. Uncomfortable emotions were squirming in her chest, making it hard to breath. She stuttered out a sigh and clenched her frozen fist.

For the second time since entering the Woodland Cascades, her thoughts strayed back to Jormag and the Dragon’s promise. She had all but betrayed Jormag, and the Dragon hadn’t taken kindly to that back in the Marches. Glaw’s heart chilled as she imagined what other things Jormag still had laid out for her. They were patient, she knew, undyingly so. Despite the lack of whispers in her ears, Glaw still felt like she was under the Dragon’s thumb. Her arm throbbed at the thought, and Glaw winced. Ever since they had entered the unfamiliar warmth of the forest, the corrupted ice and flesh had itched and ached, and her muscles twitched with the random stabs of pain.

She forced herself to swallow her thoughts and rolled once more to face Frigg’s scaled belly. She sucked in a breath. Slowly, she pressed her eyes closed and willed for sleep to take her. Eventually, her breathing evened, and she slipped into darkness.

Bryn’s insistent fingers prodded her awake a little after dawn, and she pushed herself upright on the makeshift bed with tired grumbling. She scrubbed her good hand at her eyes and watched as the others packed away their things.

“We’re leaving already?” Glaw finally mumbled.

Bryn gave her a bemused look. “Elranaii wanted to leave earlier, but you looked so dead asleep, we convinced him to wait a little bit longer.”

Glaw averted her gaze, the tips of her ears reddening. “Should have just woken me,” she said and hauled herself to her feet.

“You look like shit, Glaw.” Bryn said bluntly.

Glaw swung her gaze to Bryn, knowing full well she did with straw tangled in her mussed hair and bruises beneath her eyes. She turned to Braham. “You got anything to add?”

Braham raised an eyebrow. “No, I think that covers it.”

Glaw snorted. “I’m fine,” she said. She shoved her armor into Frigg’s saddlebags. She felt rather naked without it, but the morning air already felt hot. The rain had gone with the rising of the sun, leaving the air thick and muggy.

Elranaii was waiting for them outside of their tent. He stamped his hoof against the muddy ground, his arms crossed across his chest. “Finally,” he said as they emerged.

“Cool it, horse man.” Bryn shot back, although there was much less vitriol in her words than there had been the day before.

Elranaii glared at her but didn’t retort. Instead, he waved them forward. “Come, I will show you where your charr are hiding.” His eyes flicked to the pair of skyscales waiting behind their trio. “Perhaps you should leave the dragon beasts behind; this is a time for sneaking, not fire and claws.”

Bryn looked like she wanted to protest again, but Braham shrugged. “He’s got a point.”

Reluctantly, Glaw tied Frigg’s rein to one of the tent’s posts. She rubbed a hand against the skyscale’s snout. “Sorry, love, just for a little while. It’s safer for you here.” Frigg huffed a hot breath against her palm.

Once Froki was securely tied beside Frigg, they followed Elranaii out of the camp. He led them deeper north, where the trees grew thicker and the air grew colder. Although she couldn’t see them, Glaw knew the mountains ridging the Marches were looming close by.

“This was the way we were going,” Bryn said as they continued on northward, “We would have found them eventually without all this waylaying.”

Glaw couldn’t help but agree. She was even beginning to see broken branches and trampled undergrowth where many clawed and heavy feet had trodden. Surely they would have come across this yesterday eventually. At the words, Elranaii flicked his ears but said nothing.

For a while, they walked in silence. The only noise was the faint birdsong and the dripping of water from the high trees above. A thick carpet off moss muffled most of their footsteps. Glaw’s eyes wandered, sweeping over the fallen trees and thick green undergrowth. Flitting colorful birds and other small beasts caught her attention, but there was no sight of any actual charr.

The day drew on, and Glaw was acutely aware of the sweat making her tunic cling to her torso. She tugged at the high collar in discomfort. Only a few rays of sun permeated the dense canopy, but the air of the forest was grossly warm and almost stagnant. If she had tried hard enough, Glaw was sure she could have drank the air as water.

Relief gripped her as Elranaii finally called for a halt in a shallow clearing. It was clear that Bangar’s army had traipsed through it; most of the mossy ground was churned with mud, and a few bits of discarded food was scattered around, still untouched by scavengers. Glaw sniffed the air, catching a whiff of woodsmoke and sweat, but the latter could have been herself.

“They are close.” Elranaii said. “Their camp is just beyond this clearing, hidden in a small vale.”

Bryn reached for the heavy warhammer strapped to her broad back. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go get those bastards.”

“Bryn, wait.” Glaw held up her hand. “We’re here just to scout things out; we can’t take on a whole army.”

Bryn arched a brow. “We can try.” Nevertheless, she dropped her hand.

Glaw rolled her eyes and turned to Elranaii. “What do you suggest?”

Elranaii looked pensive for a moment, and he swished his tail. His gaze flitted to the bushes surrounding the clearing.

The hair on Glaw’s neck stood on end, and she followed his gaze. Cold inkiness crept through her veins as she caught the glinting of steel beyond the ferns and brambles.

“You can drop your weapons on the ground.”

A sharp voice cut through the thin silence, and Glaw watched with rising horror as a ring of charr stepped from the undergrowth around them. The voice’s owner stepped forward, a silver bow drawn and an arrow pointed squarely at Glaw’s chest. It was a young charr, a good deal shorter than her compatriots, but a cold fire shone in her words, and her dark eyes were steady and daring.

Slowly, Glaw drew the sword at her hip, praying it wouldn’t burst into flames, lest she end up with an arrow in her heart. The metal remained miraculously cool, and she tossed the weapon to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Bryn and Braham did the same. Turmoil and anxiety brewed in the pit of her stomach.

“Pick them up.” The small charr said to the soldier to her right. The soldier inched forward, but he flinched back as Glaw involuntarily flexed her icy hand. He moved quickly, snatching up Glaw’s sword, Bryn’s hammer, and Braham’s mace.

Glaw glared at the small charr. She met Glaw’s gaze momentarily before looking to Elranaii. “The Legions appreciate your cooperation, Elranaii.”

Glaw whipped her head around to Elranaii. The centaur shifted, stamping his hoof. His muzzle curled up slightly. “We had a deal, charr.”

“And I will honor it. I’ll convince Bangar to clear out of your tribe’s territory; the prisoners will definitely help grease the compromise.”

_ “Prisoners?”  _ Bryn ground out, her fiery gaze on Elranaii.

Elranaii had the decency to look guilty. “I am sorry, friends--”

“You don’t get to call us friends.” Braham cut him off.

Elranaii’s ears flicked back, and he shifted again. He met Glaw’s glare. “I did it for the good of my tribe. I do wish you the best, and I am sorry.”

Glaw bared her teeth in a sneer, long incisors on display. Elranaii broke eye contact and turned away. The ring of charr parted to let him pass, and he disappeared back into the green glare of the forest.

“Pissing centaurs,” Bryn spat as he left, echoing her earlier sentiments. For once, Glaw was inclined to agree with her. Elranaii’s betrayal stung, but she should have seen it coming. She would have done the same thing in his stead, she reasoned. Or at least, she might have a few weeks ago.

She growled a throaty growl as a charr roughly bound her hands behind her back. “Move it,” the charr growled at her and shoved her forward. She stumbled but managed to find her feet. She fell in step between Braham and Bryn. Bryn shot her a side glance. “You good?”

Glaw blew her hanging hair out of her eyes, barely succeeding. “Yeah,” she replied to Bryn. She wriggled her shoulders, trying to loosen her bonds, but the icy roughness of her frozen hand snagged on the rope. She snarled under her breath and huffed at her hair again. “Maybe not.”

“I should have seen that coming,” Braham muttered beside her.

“We all should have…” Glaw said. Panic squeezed her heart as she remembered the skyscales still tied up in the centaurs’ camp. “Frigg… Froki…”

“They’ll be fine, they’ve gotten out of worse scraps,” Bryn reassured her. “Breathe, Glaw.”

“I’m fine.” Glaw snapped. She struggled at her bonds some more, her shoulders beginning to ache from the uncomfortable position. The binding only squeezed her wrists tighter as it caught on a jagged shard of ice jutting from her wrist. She swallowed another cry of frustration and squared her shoulders, panting.

“Now I see how you two are related,” Braham said.

Both Glaw and Bryn looked at him. “The white hair wasn’t a dead giveaway?” Bryn said, deadpan.

“Quiet back there!” The small charr shouted from the front, and a paw cuffed Glaw over the head from behind. She bared her teeth at the charr behind her, silently daring them to try again.

Their short tramp through the forest pushed them down a gentle ledge. Elranaii hadn’t been lying about the camp, at least, Glaw realized as they broke free into another clearing. A large camp bustling with charr was spread throughout the shallow vale. Smoke rose from multiple campfires, and muted chattering made the air hum with noise.

The small charr and her band led them through the heart of the camp. They neared a large tent at the center; the guards outside the tent eyed their party. “What’s this?” One rumbled.

“A present for Bangar,” the small charr said and pushed her way into the tent. A paw shoved at Glaw’s head again before she could snap at it, and she was herded through the tent flaps as well. A fire ignited in her chest as soon as she saw Bangar standing at the tent’s center.

She was about to spit a scathing remark at Bangar, but Braham beat her to the punch.

“How’s Ryland?”

Bangar’s stoic expression soured, and he turned his attention to the small charr. “Akilla Draketongue, was it? What have you brought me?”

Akilla stood taller, although her short stature still placed her a head below Bangar. “Prisoners, sir. They’ve been hunting us.”

Bangar stepped past her, stalking a predatory circle around their trio. He rumbled discontentedly, “I know them, and what they’re doing. I’m just surprised they’re still trying.” He paused and eyed them, some of his smugness returning. “And how did you manage to capture them?”

“With the help of the local centaurs,” Akilla reported, “For a… trade.” For the first time, Akilla sounded hesitant before her Imperator. She wilted a bit as Bangar rounded on her.

“And what did you promise them?” Bangar’s tone was impassively calm.

“That we move. Our camp is disrupting the centaur’s hunting. Please, sir--”

Bangar waved his hand. Akilla snapped her mouth shut, her dark eyes glittering mutinously. A silence permeated the tent.

“We will move on,” Bangar decided, “But you would do well not to pull something like this in the future.”

Akilla met his stare before dipping her head. “Yes, sir,” she muttered.

“Place the prisoners under watch. I’ll deal with them later.” Bangar tilted his head, and once more, rough paws grabbed Glaw. She struggled against them briefly, glaring at Bangar, but something heavy struck the side of her head. Her ear set to ringing, and she gave her head a shake. She was yanked out of the tent after Bryn and Braham.

The charr marched them to a cleared area nearby littered with crates. Glaw knocked shoulders with Braham as she was unceremoniously forced to the ground. She rumbled a noise deep in her throat and watched as the soldiers formed a loose ring around them. Their backs were turned to them.

“What in Bear’s name has gotten into you?” Bryn hissed from her right.

Glaw’s lip twitched, and she flexed her corrupted hand. “I’d love to knock that smug look off Bangar’s face,” she said in lieu of an answer.

“Join the club,” Braham said with a huff. Glaw felt him shift beside her as he twisted to look at them. “You’re bleeding,” he said to Glaw.

Glaw blinked, dimly registering the ringing still sounding in her ear left ear. She brushed her temple against her shoulder, grimacing as her tunic came away stained dark red.

“You’re what?”

Glaw ignored Bryn’s words, instead eyeing the guards around them. “I have a plan,” she said slowly.

“Glaw, we’re in the middle of their fucking camp. You’re the one who said we can’t take on an army.” Bryn said.

Glaw glanced at her and raised a bloodied eyebrow. “We can try.”

Despite the concern and anger glowing in Bryn’s pale eyes, a twinge of amusement crossed her face. “Are you sure you’re not concussed?”

Glaw hummed and fell back against Braham’s shoulder, grimacing as his pauldrons dug into her shoulder blades. “I don’t know what that means.”

Glaw’s attention was drawn away from their bickering as all of the guards straightened at their post. She watched as Bangar approached, his arms folded casually behind his back. She pulled herself upright as he broke the guard’s circle and stepped closer to them. Behind her back, she flexed her icy fist.

Bangar studied them. “I made a mistake not killing all of you.” He said. “I should have known the Commander would become a martyr.”

He turned on his heel and instead approached one of the guards. With little ceremony, he freed a sword from the guard’s grasp. “I suppose I can rectify that mistake now, though,” he said as he returned to them. Bangar drew the flat of the blade over his palm before holding it in the air.

The air around Glaw crackled coldly as Bangar drew closer. She paused as a glint of red caught on the edge of the sword. It shivered and shimmered on the metal. Bangar stopped, too, eyeing the spark of red warily. “What…?”

A loud crack rent the air, and the sword clanged out of Bangar’s hand. In an instant, all the soldiers jerked alive, searching for the invisible enemy. For a brief moment, Glaw spotted fear in Bangar’s eyes. “Get down!” He bellowed as the red spark reappeared, this time hovering over his heart.

A heat burned in Glaw’s chest, and an ache of pain lanced down the length of her arm. “Get ready,” she muttered to Bryn and Braham.

“Glaw, I don’t--”

Glaw didn’t wait for Bryn to finish. A snarl built in the back of her throat, and she surged forward against her bonds. The rope strained and bit into her flesh, and then they tore with a satisfying snap. She fell forward, her face inches from the sword Bangar had dropped. The muscles in her shoulders bunched, and claws bit into the sodden earth. She met the eyes of her reflection in the steel; pale blue slits stared back at her, framed by the snarling, bloody muzzle of Snow Leopard.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad times coming? yeah...

Glaw rounded on Bangar. The imperator was clutching his arm, blood oozing sluggishly out of a wound hidden in his leather armor. He watched her warily, and a silent thrill ran through Glaw when she tasted the smallest hint of fear on his breath. She pulled back the lip of her muzzle, baring long canines at the charr. She pushed away from the mud, standing to her full height. Snow Leopard’s avatar put her a head taller than she normally was, and she now towered over Bangar. Her right arm was still iced, jagged fractals jutting from the thick, pale fur.

She prowled towards Bangar. A growl built in her throat as the soldiers on the ground scrambled for their weapons. Bangar didn’t move, cold yellow eyes still watching her, as if he was just… waiting. She took another step towards the imperator, and one of the soldiers on the ground lurched towards her feet. She knocked him aside with a deft paw. She leveled the soldier with a glare, daring him to try again. When she looked up, Bangar was backing away from her. Her hackles raised, and the muscles in her haunches bunched. She spat out a snarl and pounced.

Her claws easily sank into the leather grooves of his armor. Bangar yelped as her claws met fur and then flesh. She put her muzzle nose to nose with his, her teeth still bared. It would be so easy to just bury her fangs into his throat. A simple tear, and he would be dead. His nuisance would be over, and the Commander’s near-death would be avenged.

“Glaw, let’s go!” Bryn’s voice rang over the din of fighting behind her. Bryn and Braham must have freed themselves as well. There was a moment of silence, and she knew they were watching her. She flicked her gaze to Bangar’s throat, watching as he swallowed.

“C’mon, we can’t hold them off much longer!” Braham called.

Glaw snarled. She sank her claws in a little deeper for good measure before shoving Bangar away from her. She rose and turned to her companions. A few brave charr were actively fighting them, but most of them were hanging back, although they looked like they were about to join in now that their leader was released.

Bryn looked between Glaw and Bangar before nodding. “Let’s go,” she said. She grabbed Braham’s arm and led them back towards the forest’s edge. A few soldiers lashed at them as they passed, but Glaw was quick to put them out of commission with a growl and a swipe of her icy claws. As they neared the forest, Bryn peeled away from their group. Glaw went to follow her, but Braham pulled her back. “She’s getting our stuff. She’ll meet us in the forest.”

Glaw wanted to protest as Bryn ducked into a tent, but she couldn’t get the words past her now-feline tongue. Braham was also giving her a look that dared her to try anything. She shook off Braham’s touch and continued towards the forest.

She could still hear the charr following them as they dove into the undergrowth. As the day had drawn on, the stagnant air of the forest had only gotten muggier. The sounds of enemy footsteps behind them gradually faded into distant patters, but Glaw found herself gasping for breaths in the thick air, and her form felt weaker with each step she took. She all but slipped down into a shallow gulch.

Despite the trembling weariness in her muscles as Snow Leopard’s fur faded and fell away, her body began to feel familiar once more, and the haze that had settled like a cloud of smog in her mind lifted. She drew in shuddering breath and ran hand down her neck. She plucked away a clump of fur that clung to her with sweat and mud.

Even in the swaddling heat of the forest, Glaw felt oddly naked. She swiped at her arms and collarbone, a groan building in her throat as she realized that she was, indeed, quite naked. There was still a bit of her pants fabric tangled around her leg, but she had little else. “I liked those clothes…” She muttered to herself.

“I think we managed to shake them.” Braham’s voice sounded over the lip of the gulch, and Glaw froze. “You good down there?”

“No! Yes! Fine,” she said as steadily as she could. It all came out in a bit of an undignified squawk. “Don’t--don’t look. Just a, uh, bit of a wardrobe problem.” The chuckle she tried to tack on felt weak.

There was an awkward pang of silence, and Glaw lifted her head. Quiet relief struck her when she didn’t see any pervasive eyes peering down at her.

“Braham?” She prodded, returning to plucking tufts of leftover fur off.

“Yeah! Yeah, I, uh, know the problem.” Braham laughed. “Figured as much, so I asked Bryn to try and find you something, too.”

Glaw swallowed, fighting to keep the red-faced grin from pulling at her lips. She tamped down the blush heating her cheeks and cleared her throat. “Thanks,” she said tersely.

There was a rustling of bushes above her head, from where Braham’s voice was coming from, and a new voice joined his. “I come bearing gifts,” Bryn proclaimed. Unceremoniously, a bundle of clothes were dumped on Glaw’s head.

Glaw sputtered for a moment and tried to make heads or tails of the mess. As discreetly as she could, she pulled on the garments. They were obviously made for a build more bestial than her own. The black shirt hung a little loose around her shoulders, and the waist cinched tighter than she was used to. There was an uncharacteristic flair to the pant legs, but she didn’t really have the room to complain.

“No boots?” She asked as she stood and smoothed out the loose fabric of the shirt.

“You want to try and figure out charr shoes?” Bryn’s head appeared over the lip of the gulch, an eyebrow raised. She swept her gaze up and down Glaw, and she cracked a small grin. “Classy.”

Glaw scowled. “Thanks.” 

Bryn descended the slope of the gulch with far more grace than Glaw had and handed Glaw her sword. “Just got this baby back, don’t go losing her again.”

Glaw fastened the sword to her belt. “Don’t plan on it,” she quipped back as Braham joined them. She met his stare curiously as he took in her new outfit.

“Suits you,” he finally said.

Glaw swallowed and dipped her head, unable to figure out if the comment was genuine or not. She brushed off the thought and padded farther down the gulch’s belly. The earth felt odd beneath her bare toes, the stray tufts of grass and moss brushing her ankles. “So,” she edged, “What now?” She wasn’t able to keep out the ringing note of hopelessness. “Bangar is probably still looking for us, we don’t have the skyscales, and all the centaurs are probably  _ shoot on sight  _ now.” She spun to face her companions, well aware of the emotions warring on her face.

To her part, Bryn looked just as lost as she did.

Braham looked back towards the camp they had just fled from. “That red dot--where did that come from? That wasn’t any of us, right?”

Glaw arched an eyebrow, recalling the glint of red that had reflected off Bangar’s sword before something had forcefully blown the weapon out of his hands. “No…” she said slowly.

“Gun, was definitely a gun,” Bryn said.

“Mm, yeah, sorry, that would be me.”

The look on their faces was probably comical as they whirled towards the sudden voice chiming in from the undergrowth. Glaw drew her sword, half expecting the piece of metal to burst into flame, and pointed it at the bushes.

A small figure emerged slowly, hands raised placatingly. He was a sylvari; at least, Glaw assumed so. The only reference she had to go on was Rook and the vague knowledge the Commander had given her on her kind. He was dark-barked, an almost charcoal-black, and his angular face swept back into a large, drooping flower. Yellow eyes darted between them, the depths giving away the extent of the newcomer’s wariness. True to the stranger’s words, a long rifle was strapped across his back.

He spread his hands at their silence. “No thanks necessary,” he drawled.

Bryn spoke first. “Who the hell are you?”

“The person who just saved your asses. Stagthorne, at your service,” the sylvari grouched. He lowered his hands, although he kept looking to the sword Glaw still held aloft. “How you didn’t manage to alert the charr to your presence before that, I have no idea. Three norn tromping through the forest like a pack of brand beasts on a picnic dinner--” His voice cut off in a strangled squeak as Glaw seized him by the collar, sword dropped and forgotten on the ground.

She pushed him roughly against the trunk of the nearest tree and lifted him until his feet dangled above the ground. “You,” she ground out, “you’re the one who’s been following us.”

Stagthorne squirmed, weakly clawing at Glaw’s hands. “Ah, so you noticed. Maybe you’re not so dim-witted as I thought…”

“Wait, what?” Bryn broke in.

“This little bastard’s been trailing us since we left the mountains, spying on us,” she threw over her shoulder. She turned her attention back to the sylvari. “Why?”

Stagthorne stilled his struggling, and he tilted his chin up. An almost protective light entered his hard-set eyes as he met Glaw’s gaze. “A little birdy told me you were trying to kill the Commander. I had to keep an eye on that.”

Cold, white panic melted in the pit of Glaw’s stomach, slowly spreading through her limbs until all she could feel were pins and needles. The forest was oppressively silent beyond the sudden ringing in her ears.

_ “Oh, they don’t know.”  _ Stagthorne spoke softly this time, only loud enough for Glaw to hear, and she almost imagined a note of pity in his words.

“Glaw, what…? Killing the Commander?” Braham’s voice rang out like a crash of drums, and Glaw flinched. She lowered Stagthorne to the ground and pried her fingers open off of his collar. She swallowed thickly, and, slowly, she turned to face her companions.

“I--I…” She swallowed again and closed her eyes. “Jormag… made me a deal. I kill the Commander, and I get my memories back.” She nearly choked on her words in her haste to explain herself. “I didn’t know who she was, and I-I didn’t… I wouldn’t…”

She opened her eyes and looked to Bryn and Braham. She instantly wished she hadn’t. Bryn’s face was distraught and conflicted. Braham’s expression was unreadable.

“But you didn’t actually try,” Braham asked, and Glaw could hear the hopeful note ringing in his words, “Right?”

Glaw couldn’t find the words on her tongue. She drew in a sharp breath, trying to find a way to explain, to abdicate herself from her own guilt. Her heart twisted in a vice as Braham’s expression turned to anger.

“How many lies do you have, Glaw? Every time I think you’re telling the truth, it’s just another lie! Where does it end?” Braham drew in a ragged breath. “Is this all just some elaborate trick? You’re just doing this to get close to the Commander? So you can kill her? Because Jormag told you to?”

The panic was dizzying, and Glaw could taste it sour on her tongue. “I… yes,” she admitted quietly, “At first, yes. I didn’t know you. It was just a deal, and I was just looking out for myself.  _ Yes _ . But when it came down to it… I couldn’t. In the Raven Sanctum, against the fraenir. I tried then, but I didn’t go through with it, and Jormag punished me because of it. Since then, it’s been the truth--everything’s been the truth.”

She closed her eyes again, waiting for more heated words. She deserved them, she knew. Instead, there was only silence. She peered through her lashes, a familiar coldness writhing in her stomach at the tired look on Braham’s face. Bryn’s face was equally pinched, and her sister averted her gaze when Glaw tried to catch her eye.

“We should get going, the charr probably heard all our yelling,” Bryn said. “You’re coming too, sharpshooter,” she added to Stagthorne.

Glaw gave a short nod. She retrieved her sword from the ground and sheathed it. She tried to ignore the hurt that squeezed her lungs when she took a step towards Braham and he took a step back. She screwed up her face and stepped past him, taking the lead. They likely wouldn’t trust her at the back, anymore.

A brief wave of anger struck her as Stagthorne sauntered up beside her. He shot her a sideways glance, and Glaw curled her hand into a fist. The sylvari fell back a few steps.

They walked in silence through the thick air. Even the trees were absent of birdsong. The gulch eventually joined a little creek that wound its way from the distant mountains. Bryn quietly called for a halt, and they rested on the creek’s banks. Glaw thought back to the similar scene they had shared only a day prior. It almost felt like a dream at this point.

She dipped her hands into the mountain water. She drank deeply from her cupped hands and scrubbed away the mud, sweat, and blood clinging to her face and neck. She startled, nearly falling forward into the creek, as a piercing whistle split the air. She turned and stared at Bryn.

Bryn lowered her fingers from her lips and looked hopefully up at the sky. “C’mon… c’mon…” She muttered.

Minutes passed before a rumbling roar echoed across the canopy. Glaw stood, a slight flutter of elation reemerging in her chest for the first time since the fight. She knew that sound.

A twin pair of leathery wings eclipsed the sunlight that filtered into the forest, and Froki spiraled down towards the mossy floor, followed closely by Frigg.

Her guilt and wallowing self pity momentary forgotten, Glaw launched herself at Frigg as soon as the skyscale set down. Frigg rumbled deep in her chest and nosed Glaw’s hair. Glaw choked a wet laugh into the side of Frigg’s neck. She drew back and fumblingly removed the broken lead still wound around Frigg’s neck. “I’m so sorry we left you there, love. That was a mistake.” She murmured as she untied the rope and tossed it aside. Frigg huffed a hot breath into her hair. At least the skyscale’s trust could be patched with treats and chin scratches.

She ran a hand across the bridge of Frigg’s nose and climbed into the saddle. At least it looked like the centaurs hadn’t touched any of her things. Frigg probably hadn’t allowed them to, she thought.

Finally, she looked over to Froki. Bryn pulled herself into his saddle and levered Braham up behind her. Stagthorne was left standing on the ground. The sylvari took a step back from the beasts, a wary grimace on his face. “Ah, I do think this is my cue to leave…”

“Get on, stick man,” Bryn said sharply and pointed to Frigg.

Stagthorne scowled and approached Frigg. Frigg sniffed at him and snorted loudly, but she made no move to snap at him. Glaw offered him a hand, but he ignored it. He scrabbled at the saddle before hoisting himself ungracefully into the curve behind Glaw. Frigg rumbled as he accidentally kicked at her flank. Glaw soothed her with a few murmurs and turned to glare at the sylvari.

“Don’t try anything funny.” The shout came from Braham, and he leveled Stagthorne with a scathing glare. Something wilted and withered in Glaw’s chest as the tail end of his gaze flicked to her, too.

She looked away and clicked to Frigg. Froki took to the air, and Frigg followed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a talk...

Silence permeated the air as they skimmed back over the mountain ridges. It had been silent since they had left the Cascades, save for Braham radioing the Commander to tell her they were heading back. The Commander had asked something else, but Glaw wasn’t able to catch it before Braham turned the comm off.

Glaw shifted in the saddle. Between the biting winds nipping at her bare toes and the rather-pointy guest sharing her seat, the flight back was as uncomfortable as Glaw would have thought possible. A cottony-dry feeling still sat in the well of her throat from the confrontation. Of all the ways it could have gone, that was probably one of the worst. Ideally, she never would have let the secret slip.

Glaw swallowed and peered over her shoulder at Stagthorne. The sylvari was staring off into the passing cloud banks. His thin face was drawn. How had he known about her deal with Jormag? What was his deal with the Commander?

His golden gaze flicked to meet Glaw’s, and she averted her stare.

Through the heavy clouds in front of them, the spire of the Eye of the North breached skyward. Glaw nudged Frigg downwards.

Surprise colored her face as the courtyard came into view. The place was alive with people. There were people setting up tents, chatting in groups, and there was even a large circular structure humming with fluctuating purple energy.

Frigg touched down in a clear space, and Glaw slid off her back. “What in the Spirits’ name…” she breathed as she gazed around. A few of the milling people looked at her in curiosity; a couple of uniformed folk, she recognized as Pact. The rest were unfamiliar.

She dragged her attention away as Bryn and Braham set down beside her.

“That was fast,” was all Braham offered as he looked at the strange circular structure.

Behind Glaw, Stagthorne looked squirrely. His eyes darted around, and he settled his fingers firmly around the shoulder strap of his rifle.

“Not fond of crowds?” Bryn asked.

Stagthorne shot her a glare before schooling his features into something unreadable. “It’s been a while.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Bryn said. “Looks like we have a welcoming party.”

Glaw hunched in on herself as she saw Jory and Sari waiting for them outside the Hall’s gates. She gritted her teeth and straightened her stance. The damage was done; might as well face it with courage. She grabbed Stagthorne by the collar and pushed him forward. She marched him forward, and Bryn and Braham fell in behind her. She could feel the heat of their gazes on the back of her neck.

Jory greeted them with a raised eyebrow. “Found a friend, did we?” She quipped as soon as they were within earshot.

“Marjoy, Sari,” Braham said, “What’s going on here?” He indicated the active scene behind them.

Sari flicked her tail. “Word got out that Aurene was here. Her fan club arrived pretty quick.”

Jory snorted softly. “Then the Priory got a whiff of the scrying pool.”

Sari hummed in agreement.

Jory cleared her throat. “So, you’re back earlier than expected. And looking a little worse for wear…” She raked her gaze over Glaw’s mismatched and ill-fitting clothing, the crusted scrape still visible on her temple, and the mud slicked on just about all of them. “What happened?”

Glaw pressed her mouth thin as all eyes turned to her. “We…” Her voice died in her throat, replaced by a heavy lump.

“We were compromised and something more important came up.” Bryn finished for her. Glaw shot her a thankful look.

Jory ushered them into the Hall. “You’re starting to sound like a Whisper, Hroarkin.”

Bryn huffed. “S’what I get for hanging around your lot.”

The banter fell into terse silence as they walked down the length of the antechamber. Other than a few new people milling about, the place looked the same as it had before.

Glaw looked up at Aurene as they entered the main chamber. The elder dragon watched them carefully. Her crystals caught and glittered in the light as she moved her sinuous neck. For a brief moment, Glaw was blinded.

“You have returned,” Aurene said.

The lump in Glaw’s throat plummeted to the pit of her stomach as the Commander rose from the lip of the pool at the chamber’s center. Her movements were still ginger and careful, but she was able to move on her own.

An awful thought flashed through Glaw’s mind, of her hand gripping an icy dagger, poised to strike Rook’s unprotected back. Glaw swallowed thickly. Before she could spill the secret gnawing at her guilt, Rook gasped. Her attention was pinned on their other sylvari companion.

“Stag…” she breathed in disbelief. She limped forward, an arm outstretched as if she were about to embrace Stagthorne. Then her face hardened, and her arm fell back to her side. “What are you doing here?”

Stagthorne looked uncomfortable, and his gaze flicked between Rook and Aurene. Any suaveness the sylvari had possessed had quickly been thrown out the window. His lip twitched and his golden glow dimmed. “Keeping an eye out for you, since you don’t seem to be able to do it yourself.”

There was the barbed tongue.

Rook pushed forward until she was in his face, nose wrinkled in anger. “You disappear without a word for  _ years  _ and you come back now, and  _ that’s  _ your answer?”

Despite her diminutive state, the growl in Rook’s voice sent a chill up Glaw’s spine. She uneasily waited her turn for the Commander’s wrath to fall on her.

“I take it you know him, Boss?” Jory chimed in.

“Unfortunately,” Rook muttered, “Stagthorne, my podtwin who made it quite clear when we parted that he wanted nothing to do with me.”

Glaw noted the protective look that settled on Sari’s muzzle; the charr crossed her arms.

Stagthorne twitched, his fingertips biting harder into the rifle’s strap. “I didn’t. At the time.” He pursed his lips and raised his chin. “Then I got called to a Wyld Hunt.”

Rook arched a brow. “I thought you didn’t believe in ‘that stuff’.”

Stagthorne ignored her. “I heard you were in the area, so after the Hunt, I decided to check on you and tail you for a while.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Five years,” Stagthorne said after a moment’s hesitation.

_ “Five years?”  _ Rook hissed.

Sari intervened, putting a paw between the two sylvari. “So why come back now?” She asked Stagthorne, voice hard.

Stagthorne glanced at Glaw and silently swept his arm at their audience as an invitation to speak. Glaw curled her lip at him.

Looking back to her gathered companions, she breathed in a sharp breath. The anxiety that had been roiling like a building storm in her chest reared its ugly head, setting alight a buzzing in her ears. She pressed her eyes closed. She had no idea where to begin.

“I--” She broke off as her voice cracked.

“Glaw…”

Glaw opened her eyes as Rook spoke. The look of concern in the Commander’s eyes made guilt twisted like a knife in Glaw’s heart. Glaw pulled in a breath through her nose and started again.

“I was working with Jormag.”

The ragged quiet only made the buzzing in her ears louder.

Rook looked confused. “You told us that--”

“After that,” Glaw cut her off, “And before that. The entire time, actually.”

She hated the prickling of tears in her eyes; she blinked hastily before anything could fall. Of all the times to cry, now was not the time. She swallowed and began from the beginning. “Jormag found me bleeding out and dying. They saved me.” She offered up her icy limb in explanation; thankfully, most of her frigid arm was covered by the baggy shirt sleeve. “And they offered me a deal. In exchange for saving my life, they had taken my memories, and I could get them back if I did something for them.”

Jormag wanted me to kill the Commander.” Glaw plowed on, not wanting to see her companion’s expressions. “At the time, I had no idea who she was; I was just looking out for myself. As I met you and got to know you, all of you, it got harder to follow those orders. I… tried to go through with it, during the fight with the fraenir. I didn’t--couldn’t, though, and Jormag got impatient.”

She clenched her frozen fist, vaguely aware that the air in the chamber had chilled a few degrees. “They had Balur killed as punishment. I was given one last chance during the battle with Drakkar but I wouldn’t, not anymore.”

“Glaw.”

“I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid. Because I knew this would happen.” Her voice grew ragged at the end, and she barely swallowed the choked noise that threatened to leak out between her clenched teeth.

“Glaw,” Rook said again.

Glaw looked to the sylvari. Her face was impassive. Something horribly cold squeezed Glaw’s insides.

Rook worked her jaw. “I… understand,” she said finally.

The air left Glaw’s lungs, and she stared at the Commander incredulously.

Rook’s expression hardened. “I understand why you did what you did, but you know you could have told us, at any time.”

Glaw thought back to Jormag’s taunting words.  _ They’ll turn on you eventually. They will toss you aside. _ She remembered the look of hurt on Braham’s face as he found out the truth. She met Rook’s gaze. “I don’t know that,” she whispered.

A similar glimpse of hurt flashed across Rook’s face before she masked it with practiced ease. She nodded slowly. “For now, nothing will change.”

“Commander--” Braham broke in.

Rook leveled him with a look. “I’ll remind you, Braham, that Glaw is not the first person to make mistakes. And I doubt they’ll be the last.”

Braham quieted.

“Now, what happened? Did you find Bangar?”

“Unfortunately,” Bryn muttered. Upon seeing that neither Braham nor Glaw were going to offer anything, she continued on. “We were tracking them, but we got waylaid by a tribe of centaurs. They offered to help us find the army if we got them to move off their hunting grounds, but it turned out our guide was working with the charr all along. We got captured.”

“How did you escape?”

“Right before Bangar was about to kill us, your brother showed up.” Bryn gave Stagthorne a pointed look. “Then Glaw broke loose and we managed to get free.”

“Broke loose?” Rook gazed curiously at Glaw.

“Became Snow Leopard,” Glaw provided once she found her voice.

“Ah,” Rook said shortly. “So Bangar knows we’re looking for him.”

“Not exactly,” Bryn interjected. “He still thinks you’re dead.”

Rook raised her brows. She digested the information quietly before giving an incline of her head. She swept her eyes over their trio as if taking in their haggard state for the first time. “Any injuries?”

“Just scrapes and bruises.”

Rook gave another nod. She shared a glance with Aurene. A silent conversation passed between Scion and Champion. Rook looked back to the gathered crowd. She regarded Bryn, Braham, and Glaw. “Get those looked at and rest. There’s not much we can do at the moment.”

The group dispersed. Braham was the first to leave, heading back to the antechamber. Bryn gave Glaw a last look before joining Sari’s side. After a few heartbeats, Glaw was left alone with Rook.

“Commander…” she began.

“I meant what I said, Glaw,” Rook said firmly but not unkindly. “You can trust us.”

Glaw nodded, disbelief still gnawing at her like a leech. She turned to go.

“And Glaw?”

She paused.

“Aurene was right. No memories and you still chose goodness in the end. You are stronger than you look.”

Glaw’s throat tightened, and she offered a slight nod as a hasty thanks before fleeing the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we wait for No Quarter


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoilers for No Quarter in this chapter.**

When the call for a parley happened, Glaw was surprised to find themself being summoned. The Commander had promised nothing would change, and nothing had, but that didn’t stop most of their allies from giving them wary looks when they entered a room. Truthfully, they were getting sick of the stares.

Rook and Bryn were the only ones who would hold a steady, amicable conversation with them. Even the people who pretended they didn’t mind, Jory and Sari, still kept their chats stilted and their gazes distrusting. They were just being protective, of course. Glaw couldn’t fault them.

The discussion in the Hall about the Legions’ call to parley went no differently. When the Commander asked Glaw to accompany her to the parley, it felt like an act of faith: pass, and Glaw might be forgiven; fail, and all trust went out the window. Glaw couldn’t really object to the invitation.

The little council scattered to prepare for the journey to the Drizzlewood Coast, and Glaw watched as Braham left the chamber. He had specifically asked to stay behind, not without a look at Glaw. Glaw screwed up their nose and pushed themself out of their chair. They hurried after Braham, stopping him with a hand to the shoulder.

He looked surprised when he turned, and then his expression shifted into something just beyond aloof; the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth quivered with tension. Glaw retracted their hand when he pulled away.

“Braham,” they began.

“You should get ready to leave. The chopper will be leaving soon.” Braham made to keep walking.

“Braham, it’s been a month. You can’t just pretend I don’t exist forever.” Glaw gritted their teeth as they followed him.

Braham said nothing, and he swallowed. There was hesitation in his next step, and even though Glaw couldn’t see his face, they knew his forehead was creased and pinched. Finally, he murmured, “Have a safe trip, Glaw.”

Glaw watched as he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. They held their shoulders taut, refusing to let them dip and crumble. They hissed a quiet curse under their breath and turned on their heel. They did need to pack.

Their quarters were tucked in a quiet corner at the mouth of the Hall. It consisted of a lean-to made of a colorful tapestry, a bedroll, and a lump of their belongings made large by the bulk of Frigg’s saddle. Frigg herself was stretched alongside the little hideaway, flank gently rising and falling in sleep.

Glaw snuck into the lean-to as quietly as they could as to not wake the skyscale. Frigg was staying behind for this adventure. After nearly losing her at the centaur camp, Glaw couldn’t bring themself to take her out again. Not yet.

They settled themself on their bedroll and began sorting things into their satchel. Their hand stumbled a bit along its path as they realized, not for the first time, how little belongings they had. The underclothes that they had had for so long were lost and shredded somewhere back in the Cascades, probably long trampled beneath charr feet. Their humble identity consisted of dented and scuffed armor, a volatile sword, some odd charr clothes, a few dull daggers, and a length of fur pelt. The fur was leftover from the ones they had gotten from Balur, so many weeks ago. Unbidden, the perverse smell of ash licked at their memory. They stroked the fur between their fingers before laying it against the bedroll.

Glaw roused themself and got back to work. They folded the daggers inside the charr clothes and tucked them at the bottom of their satchel. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to use the ill-fitting clothing again, nor the unsharpened daggers. They tossed in a waterskin and a few rations of food they had pillaged from the Hall’s makeshift kitchen and clasped the satchel closed. Standing, they pulled the satchel over their shoulder and attached the sword to their belt.

A glint of light caught Glaw’s eye, and they met their own gaze in the little mirror positioned beside the bedroll. Someone not quite familiar stared back. Glaw raked a hand through their hair; the platinum-white strands now brushed their shoulders in uneven locks. Their eyes looked distant, and they tried for a smile. It sat uneasily on their face before dripping away.

Glaw dropped their hand with a huff and ducked out of the lean-to. They froze as they caught Frigg watching them with a lidded eye. They sighed and brushed a hand over the skyscale’s muzzle. “Gonna be gone for a little while, love. You can’t come this time.”

Frigg rumbled deep in her throat, and she nosed against Glaw’s outstretched palm. Before the skyscale could protest more, Glaw brushed their thumb over Frigg’s scales and headed out of the Hall.

They found Rytlock waiting impatiently at the foot of the chopper. The charr gave them a once over as they approached.

Self-consciously, Glaw tugged at the collar of their shirt. It seemed not everyone hated them because when a tailor had seen the state of their mismatched charr clothing, he had insisted he give Glaw a new outfit, free of charge. At the time, Glaw had gratefully accepted the clothing. They couldn’t really say no to nice clothes that actually fit, but in dark colors of black and gray with highlights of yellow at the collar, it was hardly their style. They breathed a sigh of relief when Rytlock’s gaze slid away.

Rytlock huffed a “finally,” as Rook approached.

“Well,” Rook said, shouldering the pack on her shoulders, “let’s be off.”

Glaw wished they had taken Frigg. Their stomach rolled as the chopper gave a none-too-gentle shake, and they swallowed as nausea crept up the back of their throat. At least the ground was in sight.

A breath of relief escaped them as their rickety ride landed and their feet touched solid, grassy ground once more. As they waited for the swooping feeling to abate and their companions to join them, Glaw looked around the camp. It was bustling with charr, their rough and throaty voices a constant low hum in the background.

Harsh chatter made Glaw’s ears prick up, and their gaze settled on a clump of charr a few meters from the landed chopper. They barely noticed as a charr ambled up beside them, but they started as the charr rumbled a greeting to the Commander.

“Efram,” Rook replied warmly, “I expected to see more troops. Did you clear out the camp for the parley?”

Glaw dragged their attention back to their party as Efram spoke.

“Unfortunately not. We’re still bleeding defectors left and right,” Efram said as he began to lead them up the hill.

Glaw listened mutely, trailing behind them. Their companions’ conversation petered off as everyone’s attention shifted to the clump of charr as a loud question rang out.

“Any last words?”

Glaw blinked in surprise, and before they could process what was happening, gunshots rang out. They watched in numb horror as three charr body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Bile rose anew in their throat.

Behind them, Efram cleared his throat. “Smodur’s standard operating procedure for dealing with his Iron Legion defectors.”

From their companions’ silence, Glaw assumed Rook and Rytlock were as shocked as they were. The sight of the charr lying lifeless on the ground was morbidly magnetic.

Quietly, Rook spoke. “He knows the point of this war is to save the charr, right?”

Efram hummed softly in agreement. “’Battlefield justice’, he calls it. But that’s Iron’s business.” He pushed past the scene, continuing up the hill. 

Their trio followed, but Glaw made out Rook whisper under her breath as she dragged her gaze away.  _ “That’s slaughter.” _

Glaw couldn’t help but agree. Dying in battle was one thing; execution was something different entirely, something honorless. Even if they were defectors… they didn’t deserve this. Glaw pressed their lips thin and trudged after their companions.

The pavilion at the top of the hill was rife with tension. Glaw recognized Crecia on one side of the table and Ryland on the other, his face laced with new scars, but the rest of the charr were unfamiliar to them. Harsh, commanding words filtered through to air as soon as they were within earshot.

“--Leave and live. Don’t know how much plainer I can make it, for you and your Pact friends.” Ryland’s words were bold and surprisingly persuasive.

The charr opposite of Ryland pulled his lip up, but his expression quieted as their group ducked into the pavilion.

“Centurion,” Rook said in greeting, nodding her head politely to Ryland.

“Tribune Steelcatcher,” one of the charr at his side corrected snappishly, “he’s earned it.”

Rook’s face soured a bit, but she quickly hid it. “Mm, I can see the scars.”

Ryland stiffened at the slightly-barbed words.

Calmly, Rook waved her hand. “I’m here to save lives, Tribune,” she assuaged, “how many charr have died already?”

Ryland still bristled a bit as he looked back to the other charr. “Then tell the Imperators to accept my offer,” he said in lieu of an answer to the Commander’s question.

“Remember who you’re up against,” the surly charr snarled.

“Most of the Iron Legion now marches as Dominion forces under my command.” Despite Ryland’s cool tone, there was an undeniable smugness present.

“Bangar’s dominion forces,” the charr at Ryland’s elbow chimed in, a side glance thrown at Ryland almost like she was chidingly reminding him, “The tribune’s power is but a taste of Bangar’s reach. And beyond that, an Elder Dragon.”

At the mention of Jormag, Glaw tensed. They wanted to tell Ryland and his lackeys that Jormag was hardly under Bangar’s control. As if sensing their shift in mood, Rook sent Glaw a warning glare. Glaw let their shoulders drop and bit their tongue.

The charr at the table continued to bicker, the tension mounting higher and higher until Ryland placed his paws firmly on the table. His claws bit into the wood. “I’m offering you mercy at your own discretion.”

Crecia broke in. “Be smart. If you let Bangar wake Jormag--”

The entire conversation stuttered to a stop as a flare of purple magic erupted in the corner of the pavilion. Glaw’s hand dropped to the hilt of their sword. Rook placed a hand on their own to stop them from drawing the weapon. Warily, Glaw watched as two humans strode from the illusory puff, one dressed in full armor and the other in bright formal wear.

At the appearance of the two, Ryland scowled. He swung his head to glare at Crecia. “I offered a parley out of respect, but it’s clear that your allegiances are askew,” He snarled and made to leave.

“Tribune--” Crecia tried.

“Offer rescinded. See you on the battlefield,” Ryland threw over his shoulder as he left. Glaw met his stare as he passed them, and they held it until fresh chattering at the table drew their attention away.

Rytlock was making an awkward attempt at introducing the humans. Well, human. Crecia’s heated gaze was pinned on the one garbed in full, ostentatious armor. “Uh, Cre, this is Logan Thackeray. Logan, Tribune Crecia Stoneglow.”

To his part, Logan was civil despite the larger figure glowering at him. “Great to finally meet an old friend of Rytlock’s.” Beside him, Rytlock gave a huff.

Deadpan, Crecia waved off his pleasantries. “Not the time. Commander, take a seat. We need to strategize.” She paused and blinked at Glaw, as if noticing them for the first time. “Uh, Glaw--”

“It’s fine, I can stand,” Glaw assured her quickly and shifted to stand between Rytlock and Logan. Logan gave them an inquiring look which Glaw returned.

The rest of the meeting passed in dull monotony of politics and strategy. Glaw appreciated a good plan, when it worked, but they were much more used to making things up on the fly. It certainly fitted their lifestyle better. They blinked, tuning back into the conversation, as a few eyes flicked to them. Someone had certainly asked them something. Dumbly, they muttered a, “sorry, what?”

One of the imperators, Glaw was fairly certain her name was Malice, twitched her muzzle in clear irritation. “You scouted Bangar’s forces before, yes?”

“Yes,” Glaw edged out slowly.

“So you know their numbers, strengths, weaknesses, the terrain.”

Glaw shifted to their other foot. Theoretically, yes, but their scouting party had gotten derailed before they had been able to do much actual scouting. Glaw cleared their throat. “We were farther south, so I don’t know the terrain as well,” they began, “and we didn’t get a good count of their numbers--”

“So you’re useless,” the other imperator, Smodur, cut them off.

Glaw bristled, trying to ignore the sting of the barb thrown at them. “They weren’t expecting us. They will certainly now, with Ryland’s open declaration of war, but maybe not smaller forces.”

To his part, Smodur looked a little taken aback at their sudden fierceness, and he settled back into his chair. Malice settled a curious look on Glaw. “The norn may have a point,” she said, “Ryland will be expecting a frontal assault--”

“Because it gets results,” Smodur groused.

“--but smaller guerrilla attacks will take them off guard. They won’t be expecting it.” She shot a pointed look at her fellow imperator.

“So let’s do both,” Rook said before Smodur had the chance to protest again. She looked at the Iron Legion imperator. “A large frontal attack will keep their attention off the smaller forces, which we can use to inflict damage where it hurts. Ryland won’t expect the change in tactics.”

“Some of the Seraph share mesmer abilities,” the other human, Kasmeer, added. “Malice can factor us in.”

To Glaw’s right, Rytlock rumbled, “Maybe it’s time to teach the cubs a few new tricks.”

Not for the first time, Glaw wondered how they had gotten swept up in this.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild trigger warning for death/gore?
> 
> Also still spoilers for No Quarter, as there will be from here on out.

Glaw stood at the edge of the base camp, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of their sword. They were waiting for company, but their companions did not seem pressed on joining them.

Rook and Rytlock had disappeared to speak with Crecia after the failed parley meeting had dispersed, leaving Glaw with Malice and Smodur. Glaw had managed to get Malice’s respect, at least; Smodur, however…

Glaw recalled the imperator’s flippant words as he told them to ‘go patrol the forest or something’. When they hadn’t moved, merely stared at the charr incredulously, Smodur had stared back, telling them that a group was leaving soon, and they’d do best to join it. Not wanting to cause a scene, Glaw had acquiesced to the orders.

A scowl passed over Glaw’s lips now as they shifted their weight again. Whatever patrol was supposed to go out clearly respected Smodur as much as Glaw did.

As if summoned by Glaw’s thoughts, a few charr filtered out of the camp. Two gave Glaw a passing glance and offered them nothing more than a few grunts. Another, Glaw could smell the beer on his breath. They wrinkled their nose, shifting their stance to be upwind of him.

A last charr fell in, her gaze lingering on Glaw. “Oh good,” she said dryly, “we have company.”

Glaw chose to hold their tongue as they filed out of camp.

The charr with beer on his breath, who Glaw figured, thankfully, was only a little tipsy from the surety of his gait, sidled up beside them as they made their way into the density of the forest. “So, you talk, norn?”

Glaw shot him a look. “When I can be asked.”

The charr huffed, baring his teeth in a facsimile of a grin. “Ah, I understand,” he drawled, “patrol can be boring, ‘specially with these hairy louts.”

“Watch your tongue, Brulas,” the charr at the head of the group snapped. She flicked her gaze between Brulas and Glaw, eyes narrowing.

“See what I mean?” Brulas leaned in conspiratorially.

Glaw leaned away minutely, giving the charr a hum of agreement. Thankfully, Brulas fell a head shorter than them, only coming up to their shoulder. If not, Glaw was sure he would have stuffed his muzzle in their face.

Glaw cleared their throat, addressing the leading charr. “My name’s Glaw.” After a moment, they added, “Hroarkin.”

The lead charr looked like she was considering just ignoring Glaw, but she finally breathed out a sigh. “Jolla Drakeshield,” she introduced herself. “You’ve already met Brulas Drakenettle. Those two chatterboxes are Gristle Drakemaw and Gnash Drakebluff.” She pointed a claw at the two charr who had yet to speak a word.

“Drake?” Glaw asked. The four charr hardly looked related, besides Gristle and Gnash.

“Drake warband,” Brulas said churlishly, raising an empty paw in a mock toast, “biggest failure of Blood Legion.”

Jolla sent him a venomous stare and a sharp hiss.

“Drake warband,” Glaw echoed. The name was familiar. “Wait, do you know Akilla Draketongue?”

If Jolla hadn’t been scowling before, she was now. She pulled back her lip, revealing lengthy canines. “Akilla,” she spat the name like a curse, “was part of our warband. She abandoned us for Bangar soon as he started tooting his own horn.”

Glaw huffed. “If it’s any consolation, she served me and my friends up on a platter to Bangar.”

“It’s not,” Jolla said tersely. She didn’t offer anything else.

Sighing under their breath, Glaw looked around the forest they were tramping through. The trees weren’t quite as dense as they had been further south. The air was a bit sharper, too; Glaw’s frozen arm didn’t ache with every small movement. Glaw sniffed at the air. The sweet and earthy scent of the moss and cedar trees washed over their tongue. Apart from a deer and her fawn watching them warily, they saw no other living creatures.

Brulas had taken to mumbling under his breath as they walked, his empty gaze pinned on the path beneath his paws. Gristle and Gnash seemed to be the only other ones besides Glaw who were actually keeping an eye out.

The minutes dragged on as they crested a ridge. A small canyon stretched out before them; the tips of the trees just reached past the lip of the canyon walls.

Jolla called for a rest, and their patrol scattered across the ridge. Glaw padded to the lip of the canyon, their boots kicking a few loose rocks over the edge.

Brulas appeared at their elbow, although he was much more subdued than he had been before. His distant eyes peered over the fogged canyon filled with trees. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe Bangar’s saying something right,” he admitted softly, only loud enough for Glaw to hear.

Glaw jerked to stare at him in surprise.

“Growing up in the fahrar, we were always taught and expected to follow our superior’s orders blindly,” he continued, his eyes meeting Glaw’s for a brief moment. “Seeing this fight, listening to the imperators talk ‘bout the troops and defectors like we’re just numbers, really makes me wonder if this all coulda been avoided if we didn’t follow so blindly and acted more in the best interest of  _ everyone  _ rather than just the people with all the power.”

Glaw swallowed, looking back over the canyon. “Maybe,” they edged, “but no matter whatever Bangar thinks, or says, he’s not really in control. Jormag’s smarter than that, just playing him like a pawn. Bangar and Ryland aren’t really any better than your imperators.”

There was a tense moment, and Brulas sighed. “Yeah, I know. Just food for thought, yeah?”

Glaw nodded shortly. They let their shoulders fall a bit, a slight breeze ruffling their hair. They swept their gaze over the canyon, and a familiar red glimmer caught their eye. A cold stone settled in their gut.

“Brulas, get down,” Glaw said lowly, slowly reaching a hand out to grip Brulas’ shoulder.

“What?”

The little red dot wandered across the lip of the canyon they stood on before settling on Brulas’ chest.

“Get down!” Glaw barked, pulling Brulas with them as they dove for the ground. The whizz of a bullet flitted over their head. Another bullet followed, thunking meatily into the trunk of a tree.

Glaw breathed heavily, their face half-buried in Brulas’ thick mane as they laid bodily over him. Brulas drew in a breath that was equally ragged. Slowly, Glaw levered themself off of the charr. They pulled themself into a squat, searching the canyon for any other red light.

Behind them, they heard their companions stir.

“Sniper,” Jolla growled, “Ryland’s fighting dirty, too. Any idea where it came from?”

Glaw shook their head. “Too much fog, and it happened too fast.”

Jolla’s lip twitched, but she nodded. Her attention turned to her warband. “Everyone alright?” She asked roughly, “Brulas?”

“Fine, Jolla,” Brulas groaned. He rolled over; grass and moss clung to his back and fur. “Thanks to our norn. Sharp eyes you’ve got there, friend.”

“I’ve had practice,” Glaw offered. They didn’t add that last time, it wasn’t them who was being shot at. Still hunkered low, they shuffled farther down the ridge, back into the safety of the forest undergrowth. Brulas followed them until they were rejoined with the rest of the Drake warband.

“We should head back to camp and warn them. Who knows how many snipers Ryland’s got scattered across the forest,” Jolla said.

A mutter of assent passed through the patrol, and with one last glance at the ridge, they began to plod back towards the base camp. The journey back was much more tense than the journey to. The hair on the nape of Glaw’s neck prickled with every sound of the forest, and their gaze darted across the line of trees. On more than one occasion, they were sure they saw glittering eyes staring back at them. They didn’t breath easily until the sounds of camp reached their ears and the sight of campfire smoke emerged from the canopy.

Smodur didn’t look happy to see them back so early. “Drakeshield, report.”

Jolla straightened, but the twitch of her eye betrayed her discontent at reporting to the Iron imperator. “There’s snipers out there; we thought it best to let everyone know  _ before  _ they got their heads blown off.” Her words were blunt. As an afterthought, she added a dry, “sir.”

If Smodur caught her disrespect, he didn’t show it. “You’ll go out and finish the patrol,” he ordered.

Jolla looked like she wanted to argue, but she dipped her head.

Glaw made to follow the warband, but Smodur stopped them. “Not you, norn. The Commander wants you with us.”

Glaw raised an eyebrow, looking around the camp. “Us?”

“Rytlock and the Commander found Ryland’s secret hideout.” Smodur explained. “And we’re joining the welcome wagon.”

Glaw stared up at the impassive door tucked into the cliffside. For the past two minutes since they had arrived and for Spirit’s know how long before then, Rook and Rytlock had been fiddling with the door, trying to pick the lock.

Beside Glaw, Smodur griped under his breath about his idea of just blowing it wide open being shot down. While Glaw didn’t agree with his method, it certainly would’ve been quicker than this.

There was a clearing of a throat, and Malice stepped out of a shadowed cove a few feet away. Between her claws, she held a key. “I think this might help,” she said. There was a breadth of amusement in her tone.

“Ah, yea.” Rook stepped away from the door. Malice slotted the key into the lock, and the door swung open silently.

“Remember.” As she spoke, Rook pinned her stare on Smodur. “We do this quietly.”

The Iron imperator’s whiskers twitched, but he didn’t protest. Glaw gave him a last wary glance before slipping in after Rytlock.

There were, as expected, guards at every turn. The patrols roaming the halls seemed a bit excessive to Glaw, especially since this was supposed to be a  _ secret  _ base. But then again, they had found and infiltrated it, so maybe Ryland’s paranoia was worth something.

Glaw stuck close to Rook and Rytlock. Smodur was nearly breathing down their neck, and they nearly stumbled forward as the imperator bumped into their heel to avoid alerting a guard. Glaw screwed up their nose and let it slide. Malice brought up the rear, her face twisted in concentration as she kept up the shroud cloaking their group.

The last turn finally came and put them in front of another door. It was guarded by a single charr. Glaw watched as Rook snuck up behind him and dispatched him with little candor. The ease with which the Commander felled the charr made Glaw swallow; she had done it without a change of expression.

For a moment, Glaw caught her amber gaze. Something passed through the Commander’s eyes, and she inclined her head. There was some remorse in the minute twitch of her cheek, a disappointed downturn of her lips.

Malice let the shroud fall, and she placed a hand on the war room door. “Okay, I suggest--”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence. Smodur pushed past her, throwing open the doors with a deep-throated roar. Whatever silent grace their group had possessed was thrown out the window.

“Damn it, Smodur,” Malice hissed after the charging imperator.

Glaw sighed. Perhaps it had been too much to ask. They drew the sword at their hip and pushed their way into the fray. Hopefully anything valuable wouldn’t go up in flames like the rest of their infiltration had.

They parried the wide sweeping blow of a Dominion charr. Despite the fact that this was the first time they had properly used their sword--they had practiced with it back at the Hall of Monuments, but sparring was nothing like a real fight--the weight of its hilt in their hand felt familiar. The reach was much longer than the daggers they were used to; that extra reach helped in keeping their balefully-unarmored body out of reach of the enemy steel.

The dark blade pierced the charr’s leather armor with ease, sliding up with a gush of blood to half the blade’s length. The hiss of the charr’s last breath echoed in Glaw’s ears with each pulse of their heart. Killing mindless icebrood was one thing. Hell, even back at the charr camp when they had been captured, they had felt indifferent under the blanket of rage of Snow Leopard as they had torn through the ranks. These charr were still in their right minds, at least in some sense, and the strength of their will still shone in their eyes. 

The thought made Glaw’s stomach turn on end. They swallowed the nausea and pulled their sword free. The charr’s lifeless body fell to the floor in a heap. These were Dominion charr, Glaw reminded themself. They had chosen their side. 

The sound of fighting and the clashing of steel behind them faded, and Glaw turned back to the others. Charr were scattered across the room’s floor. A singular charr was left kneeling. Glaw recognized her from the parley earlier. Smodur’s blade was at her throat; Cinder’s expression was defiant despite the honorless death hovering above her jugular.

“Wait!” Crecia cut in before Smodur could finish Cinder off.

“What do you mean ‘wait’?” Smodur growled.

“She’s his second,” Crecia said with a side glance at Cinder. “Her life is worth more than her death, to Ryland and to us.”

Smodur’s lip curled with displeasure, but he let his blade fall away from Cinder’s throat. “Fine.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter to wrap up the No Quarter happenings. This chapter does have some pretty heavy material in it, just as a warning. War crimes are no joke

After much bickering, mostly between Crecia and Smodur, they finally decided to spare Cinder for the time being and use her as a bargaining chip to draw Ryland in for another parley.

Glaw bound Cinder’s paws behind her back, doing their best to ignore the charr’s mutterings.

“You look familiar,” Cinder said, “you were one of the norn we captured.”

Glaw gritted their teeth and hauled Cinder to her feet. “Look how the tables have turned,” they retorted. That response made Cinder’s expression sour. The charr bared her fangs at Glaw, ears drawn back and flush against her head.

“Ryland won’t stop a war, not for me,” Cinder spat.

“You’d better hope he does.” The words were meant to be threatening, but Glaw couldn’t muster any heat behind them. A defeated tone bottomed out at the ‘hope’. This war had barely begun, and they were already tired of it.

Their tone must have caught Cinder off guard because she quieted. Glaw let Crecia take her. They watched as their prisoner was marched out of the war room. Glaw’s gaze drifted to the bodies still scattered across the floor. The familiar taste of bile rose in their throat, and they turned away from the scene.

They met Rook’s sympathetic gaze. “It gets easier over time,” she said. There was grief behind her words.

The promise did little to reassure Glaw. They swallowed; their knuckles turned white on the pommel of their sword. “This isn’t my war,” they said.

Rook sighed, and her attention fell to the papers she had been leafing through. “I know,” she began. Her finger fiddled with the crimped corner of one of the papers; it worried at the yellowing page until Glaw was sure the dogeared scrap would fall off. “We rarely get to fight our own battles.”

Glaw stared at Rook for a heartbeat longer before nodding. Rook dragged in a deep breath and looked back to Glaw. This time, her tone was dry, bordering on sardonic. “I think Smodur has some new ‘instructions’ for us.”

Glaw couldn’t keep their lip from curling in contempt, and the expression drew out a soft laugh from Rook.

Smodur’s instructions included a fire crystal and a Dominion storage bunker. A distraction and a way to push back the Dominion forces. Killing two birds with one stone, Smodur called it over the crackling of the comms.

Glaw stared at the charged fire crystal dubiously. They turned the gem in their palms; a million fractals reflected the light, and a gentle glow emanated from within the crystal. The hum of power that the stone gave off made anxiety boil in the pit of their stomach.

“What exactly are we doing with this?” Glaw asked as they neared the storage bunker.

Smodur’s gruff voice echoed through the comms. Glaw was beginning to grow tired of it. “Destroying Dominion’s ability to use Iron resources against us. As I said.”

“Yes, but  _ how _ .” Even Rook was beginning to sound impatient.

“With a really big boom.”

Glaw snorted and turned the crystal over in their hands again. They were on top of the bunker now, the ventilation shaft at their feet. If they strained their ears hard enough, they could make out muffled voices rising from the shaft. “Is there someone in there?” They cast a glance at Rook and Rytlock.

Rook’s face creased in concern, and Rytlock shrugged. “He said this was a supply bunker.”

“Stop wasting time and drop the grenade.” Once more, Smodur’s voice cut through the comms. Glaw dug their nails into the hard surface of the gem. A surly disquiet made a nest in their chest.

“Something feels off,” Rook murmured.

“This is war, Commander. We do what’s necessary, or we lose.”

The expression on Rook’s face deepened into a frown. “No,” she said with steel in her tone, “Unless you tell us  _ exactly  _ what this grenade does, nothing is going to happen, Smodur.”

A discontented growl rumbled through the radio static.

“Commander,” Rytlock broke in this time. “I can do it.”

_ “No.”  _ Rook fixed her dark stare on Rytlock.

“It’s the best cover we can give Cre and Malice.” Glaw hadn’t heard Rytlock try to be placating before. He wasn’t very good at it. When the Commander said nothing more, he turned to Glaw and held out a paw.

Glaw stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, and their expression hardened. “No, the Commander is right. Just because it’s the best cover doesn’t mean it’s the  _ only  _ cover.”

A minute look of discomfort passed over Rytlock’s face like a spasm, and his claws curled inward. He took a small step towards Glaw. He was going to force the crystal from their grip. Glaw backed away, and in a brief moment of short-sighted panic, tossed the crystalline grenade off the nearby cliff.

“Glaw!” Rook’s surprised yelp was mixed with Rytlock’s angry growl.

The ground rocked as a  _ thoom!  _ made the earth shudder beneath Glaw’s feet. They nearly lost their balance, and they leaned heavily against the ventilation shaft. From within the bunker, cries of surprise and alarm arose.

Mouth suddenly dry, Glaw found their feet and crept to the edge of the cliff. The ground and the bunker door were a short drop away. The cliffside that had once hidden a simple wood door was now blanketed in a splash of glittering purple crystals that jutted like angry claws towards the sky. Rook joined Glaw’s side, and Glaw heard the breath stutter out of the Commander’s chest.

_ “That was more than just a grenade.”  _ Her harsh whisper cut through the air.

Something wilted and curled in Glaw’s chest as a yell and a hammering of a fist on wood broke the fragile silence that followed the boom. “They’re trapped inside,” they said slowly with dawning horror.

Smodur’s unimpressed harrumph sounded over the comms. “Well, that works. Not ideal, though.”

“Smodur, this supply depot was fully staffed.” Rook snapped across the line.

“Yes,” Smodur drawled, like he was spelling it out for the Commander, “People are a resource.”

A growl cut him off; surprisingly, it came from Rook. “If we become the monster, we’ve already lost.”

“Stop being so squeamish. This is war, Commander. This is how we win.”

Glaw heard a snarl building in Rook’s throat anew, but a click on the other end of the line signaled that Smodur had switched from their channel.

“That bastard.” Anger painted Rytlock’s tone.

Glaw couldn’t drag their gaze away from the door where fists still hammered on it with growing fervor. The desperate sound chipped at the steel they were trying to fortify in their gut. “Is there any way we can break through that?”

“It looks like brand crystal.” The fire in Rook’s voice had disappeared; now, she just sounded tired. “Nothing short of strong magic is getting through that.”

Glaw’s tongue suddenly felt thick and heavy in their mouth; they couldn’t rouse it.

“They won’t suffocate,” Rook said mutely with an absent wave towards the ventilation shaft. The  _ ‘they’ll starve instead’  _ went unsaid. Glaw started as a hand touched their arm, and they finally wrenched their eyes away from the crystallized door. “It’s not your fault, Glaw.”

“It certainly feels like it,” Glaw croaked.

Rook’s fingers squeezed their arm, and Glaw allowed themself to be guided away from the cliff edge.

“We’ll get Kas down here; perhaps the mesmers can work their magic.” The conviction behind Rook’s words was lacking.

Glaw could only nod dumbly. They shook off the haze clouding their head as Crecia spoke through the comms. “Commander? Malice got the message to Ryland. He’s agreed to another parley. Meet us at the hidden base.”

“Understood, Crecia. We’ll be there in a bit.”

“Is everything alright, Commander?” Concern laced Crecia’s question.

“We’ll talk later,” Rook promised. She clicked off the comm and shared a glance with Glaw and Rytlock. “We can’t talk about this over comms. I don’t trust Smodur.”

“You think Jormag’s gotten to him?” Rytlock asked.

“We can’t rule anything out,” Rook said. She cast the bunker beneath them a last glance. Regret darkened her expression. “Let’s get going before anyone gets suspicious.”

The desperate cries of the trapped charr echoed in Glaw’s ears as they walked away.

Crecia, Logan, and Kas were waiting for them when they arrived at the doors of the secret base. “Full house,” Crecia said in a way of greeting, “Ryland should be arriving soon.”

Rook nodded and turned to the two lingering humans. “Logan, Kas… why don’t you hang back this time. You’ve been valuable allies, but…”

Kas mustered a small smile. “We understand. There’s too much at stake here.”

“We’re at your service as long as you need us, Tribune Stoneglow,” Logan said.

The look Crecia offered Logan was a far cry from the animosity she had shown him earlier in the day. “Call me Crecia. Commander, let’s go collect our prisoner.”

They found Cinder under Smodur and Efram’s watchful eyes. Cinder grimaced as she was roughly pulled upright by Smodur. She curled her lip at the Iron imperator. “Chain me all you like. Ryland will never kneel to you.”

“Then we should just--”

Crecia cut Smodur off. She addressed Cinder. “It’s not about that; it’s about saving our people, including you.”

Cinder shot Crecia a look of disbelief. “You say that. You all say that, but get a little power, sink your teeth in…”

Rytlock cuffed her over the ears, and Cinder fell silent. “You’ve got a lot to learn, cub,” Rytlock growled.

“I’ve learned plenty,” Cinder bit back, “Old heads aren’t the only ones fit to lead.”

Cinder’s words were nearly drowned out by the sudden bark of anger between Efram and Smodur. “You used a searing crystal. You made my people complicit in your war crime.” The Flame imperator had a claw jammed in Smodur’s chest.

“I exploited a weakness,” Smodur said simply. “And it worked, maybe not the way intended, but it got the desired results.”

“Do you even care about the charr blood on your hands--?”

“Dear Efram.” Smodur’s tone was chiding. Glaw half expected smoke to start rising from Efram’s ears. “From Flame, I expected backbone.”

“Overstep again, and you won’t have to worry about Bangar--I’ll rip your throat out myself,” Efram growled.

“As if you’ve got the claws,” Smodur sneered.

“Okay, enough!” Rook’s sharp voice sliced through the heating argument. “Efram, you have all right to be angry, but now is not the time. We need a pact with Ryland.”

“Do we?” Now, Smodur just sounded churlish. “We’ve retaken the territory; we don’t need any negotiations.”

Rook flattened her lips into a thin line and turned to Crecia. “You got him here, now make him listen.” She fixed Smodur with a withering glare that could have killed lesser beings and walked into the war room.

Eager to escape the tension, Glaw followed. Slowly, the rest of their party trickled in. At the center of the war room stood Ryland, his back rigid and his arms tucked behind his back.

“Tribune Steelcatcher,” Crecia greeted him.

Ryland’s eyes flitted over each of them before settling on Crecia. “Tribune Stoneglow,” he returned, “I’m here.”

“You warbandmates… I’m sorry for your loss,” Crecia began.

“Are you?” Ryland broke in before she could finish the sentiments. He tilted his head. “Gives you the advantage.” Crecia’s ears flicked back, and the tip of her tail twitched. “So, what do you want?” Ryland’s gaze swept over Cinder.

“Rejoin the legions. Put an end to our people killing each other.”

Ryland’s expression twitched for a moment, but it settled back into aloofness again before Glaw could make anything of it. “My orders haven’t changed.”

“What about Vishen, Nicabar, Ranoah? Are those orders worth your loyalty?”

The odd expression was back again, and it lingered. Glaw spotted uncertainty in Ryland’s darkened eyes. He braced his shoulders. “And what are your orders?”

“I’m not giving you orders.” A pleading note entered Crecia’s tone. “I’m trying to bring you home.”

To Glaw’s left, Smodur shifted and muttered under his breath, something about stupid loyalties and softness.

“Think about it,” Crecia pressed, “Bangar’s compromised. He’s trying to yoke an Elder Dragon! This war will only get worse.”

“This whole farce is a waste of time,” Smodur growled.

“Smodur--!” Crecia snapped at him before turning back to Ryland. “Ryland, every choice has a price. You chose Bangar, and it’s cost you the rest of your warband. Isn’t that enough?”

Ryland wavered. He looked between Crecia and Cinder. “You say Steel’s essential? We’re vital to the future? Show of faith: let Cinder walk out of here with me.”

Crecia turned to look at Cinder, her expression contemplative. “I’d need some assurances--”

“Enough,” Smodur snarled. Glaw turned as a glint of silver flashed in their periphery. Their heart leapt into their throat, and they could only watch in horror as Smodur plunged a dagger into Cinder’s unprotected neck. “Don’t need traitors.”

The scene unfolded into chaos as Cinder slumped lifeless to the ground. Smodur stood triumphantly above her, still brandishing the bloodied dagger.

Through the gasps of shock, Ryland’s pained voice swung down like a vice.  _ “I trusted you.” _

Glaw swallowed. Their hand fell to their sword as Ryland growled and called to his guards to attack. A wide-shouldered charr blocked Glaw’s view of Ryland escaping through the open door. Glaw mirrored their opponent’s sneer and blocked her blow. They cut down the charr, only pausing as Rytlock’s voice rang out. “Commander, we need him!”

Over the din, Efram shouted a reply. “Go! We’ve got this!”

Glaw ducked under an errant charr arm and joined Rook and Rytlock at the mouth of the base. They sent a last look at the fight behind them before running after their companions.

As night had set in, the lower valleys had been buried in a thick bath of fog. Glaw could barely see a few feet in front of them; only by Snow Leopard’s grace did they not trip over the roots and rocks that sprouted up in their path. Luckily, neither Rook nor Rytlock were worried about the noise they made as they pursued Ryland northward. The sound of heavy breathing behind them told them that Smodur had deigned to tag along in the pursuit. In a burst of hot spite, they treaded a little quicker and softer; with any luck, Smodur would get lost.

The land finally leveled out, and the fog cleared to reveal a vast expanse of grassless land at the northern reaches of Drizzlewood Coast. Glaw skidded to a halt beside Rook and Rytlock. They watched as Ryland disappeared over the northernmost bridge. The bridge was still swathed in mist. A foreboding chill settled in the air.

Smodur broke free of the fog behind Glaw, Crecia at his side. They padded up beside the trio, breathing hard. “Where is he?” Crecia asked, “I don’t see him, and it’s too quiet.”

Slowly, their party approached the misty bridge. A cold feeling crept like icy fingers up Glaw’s spine as they spied icicles dripping from the bridge’s supports. “I have a bad feeling about this…” they muttered.

The cold turned to an icy lump in their stomach as something shifted on the bridge; the entire structure shuddered with a groan of metal and ice. Glowing eyes pierced through the mist like a searchlight. Glaw took a step back in tandem with their companions.

“Burn me,” Rytlock cursed.

Glaw hissed a complimentary curse between their teeth as a dozen icebrood emerged from the mist that was quickly becoming a frosty gale. “Fuck,” they bit out as a charr-like shapes followed the icebrood.

“They look like Sons of Svanir…” Rook whispered in horror.

“Ryland’s gone,” Rytlock growled. Sohothin was drawn in his grasp. 

“We can’t let them get beyond this valley!” Glaw barely heard Crecia’s yell over the suddenly-whipping wind.

The icebrood only marched closer, and Glaw drew their sword. In the icy air, their frozen limb prickled. Energy made their fingers jump and twitch, but a heavy presence sat like a shadow in the back of their mind.

“Face the might of the Frost Legion!” A voice bellowed over the howl of the gale.

The first wave of icebrood hit like Glaw had thrown themself at a glacier. They stumbled back under the frozen blade of a corrupted charr. Their sword crossed over their head to block the heavy blow; a flicker of fire licked up their sword, but it dissipated with a hiss of steam. Frost crept down the metal where it touched the icebrood sword.

With a yell, Glaw knocked the blade away and ran the charr through the side. Or at least, they had planned to. The corrupted charr brought a frozen limb up, glancing away their swing with a spray of ice crystals.

“They fight smarter than icebrood!” Rytlock yelled from somewhere to Glaw’s right. That knowledge would have been helpful to know two seconds ago.

Gritting their teeth, Glaw skirted back a few steps. The corrupted charr was heavier, and he lumbered towards them with the surety of an avalanche. The charr swung again, a flattening blow from overhead, and Glaw ducked under the raised arm. They planted their boot in the back of his knee; the charr stumbled, and Glaw took the advantage to bury their sword in his spine. The charr died with a crackling groan.

Glaw yanked their sword free and spun around with a heaving breath. One down, Spirits know how many to go… The battlefield was awash with icebrood and misshapen beasts.

An icebrood quaggan rushed at Glaw with gnashing fangs, and Glaw thrust out a hand on instinct. Ice sprang readily from the earth, encasing the quaggan’s legs in a thick block. The icebrood quaggan screamed and shrieked in frustration, reaching towards Glaw. Glaw inched out a shaky huff and straightened.

A Son of Svanir charged Glaw with a bellow, and once more, Glaw thrust their hand forward. Ice rocketed up the Svanir’s legs until he was frozen solid up to his waist. “Witch!” the Svanir raved.

Glaw swallowed. No enemy could get near them; any that tried ended up frozen in place, squirming and yelling in anger at their prey that was just out of reach. Amidst the despair, laughter bubbled in Glaw’s chest with each corrupted foe they froze. A shot rang out behind them, and they spun on their heel towards the sound, hand outstretched and fingers trembling.

A Frost Legion musketeer was frozen midstep, gun up and mouth ajar. A thick coat of crystalline ice covered him, petrifying him in that moment. From the barrel of his musket, kept in place and suspended by a thin needle of ice, was a bullet aimed directly at Glaw’s chest. At the sight, Glaw hazarded a grin.

Their elation didn’t last long. A long shadow fell over them. Fear boiled in Glaw’s gut as they looked up to see a large icebrood giant bearing down on them. Their legs felt frozen in place--in some corner of their mind, they found the irony laughable--and they were helpless as the giant tilted and fell over them with deliberate precision.

A voice rang out across the battlefield with panic mangling the otherwise-strong tone. Absently, Glaw recognized it as the Commander’s.  _ “GLAW!” _

There was a muffled boom, a spray of ice and dust, and their vision went black.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun times begin!

A sharp touch prodded him roughly in the shoulder. Glaw broke into consciousness with a sputtering inhale. His entire body ached, and there was an intense ringing in his left ear. Slowly, he let his eyes flutter open. A blurry figure was leaning over him.

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” it said dryly before pulling out of his frame of vision to yell something over its shoulder.

In reply, Glaw wheezed out a breath and pushed himself up on his elbows. The movement made his stiff and bruised muscles scream in protest. There was the tacky feeling of blood trickling down his forehead from his hairline, and even his icy arm felt like it had a few unpatched cracks. The frozen limb felt leaden. Glaw swallowed another groan and pressed his eyes closed. His head throbbed with a raging headache; it felt like a tree had fallen on him. Or a very large ice giant…

The memories of the fight came trickling back like a dammed river springing a leak. Glaw rubbed a hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before blinking his eyes open again. The first sight that greeted him was the glistening body of the ice giant not two inches from his side. There were a few arrows sunken deep into its icy hide. A broken arrow’s fletching crunched under Glaw’s palm as he shuffled himself away from the fallen giant.

He traveled his gaze farther, and the silent battlefield stretched out in crumpled icy corpses and plumes of dust and snow. A cottony feeling stuffed his mouth as he watched icebrood and Dominion forces picking among the bodies. He scrambled to his feet as quietly as he could. In his haste, he nearly slipped back down into the mud and muck. He steadied himself with a hand on the ice giant’s corpse. Slowly, he began to back away. None of the Frost Legion charr seemed to be paying him any mind, so he allowed himself a small breath of relief. He turned and nearly collided into someone’s chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A voice growled. It was familiar; it belonged to the person who had prodded him awake.

Glaw’s heart leapt into his throat as he lurched back from the figure. A charr leered at him, a milky eye surrounded by ice marring her muzzle.

“I--I…” Glaw stammered eloquently.

“Thinking of deserting, soldier?”

Glaw swallowed.  _ What? _ “No?” he edged out, taking a step back from the corrupted charr. The charr wrinkled her muzzle; the icy shards buried in her cheek twitched in a nauseating motion at her expression.

“Good,” she rumbled in a gravelly tone. “Typical Sons of Svanir,” she muttered under her breath. Glaw barely caught the words. “All bold words, all pissant cowards.”

Glaw’s mind whirled as he tried to make heads and tails of his situation. All he could do was numbly follow as the charr beckoned to him. He cast a last glance over his shoulder. Maybe if he wished hard enough, someone would emerge from the fog to rescue him. The foreboding mists stayed silent. Clenching his icy fist, he followed the charr over the bridge north of the battlefield.

She led him deep into the creaking glaciers beyond the bridge. Small caves were carved out into the frozen cliff faces, and distrustful eyes glared out at Glaw as he passed them. He bit his tongue and hoped none of them would recognize him.

His guide didn’t try to make conversation. She continued deeper into the Frost Legion encampment, occasionally muttering to herself in a scratchy tone.

As they marched on, Glaw thought. The last thing he remembered from the fight was the ice giant diving down on him. His companions must have been forced back; there were no familiar corpses on the battlefield, so someone must have called for a retreat.

They had left him.

Glaw swallowed down the sudden bout of nausea and pushed the thought out of his head. They had thought him dead, more than likely. He couldn’t really fault them. And yet, the abandonment still stung.

The path between the glaciers finally split into an open field of dirt mounds and slushy snow. Tents and campfires scattered the field, and in the distance, Glaw spied large icebrood beasts pacing a trail around the camp’s perimeter. His bruised and battered skin ached at the sight. He kept after the charr, but he stopped cold when she rounded on him with bared teeth. He stumbled back and held up his hands.

“Don’t you got somewhere else to be? Gonna follow me around like a lost cub?” she snarled.

“I--” Glaw scrambled for an excuse, “lost my company. All of them.”

The charr’s face was devoid of any sympathy. Her lip curled. “So find someone else to pester.”

“Right. I… will,” Glaw said.

“Good. Do that.” The charr gave him a once-over and turned on her heel. She padded off into the side of the camp that was infested with other corrupted charr.

Glaw watched her go. Perhaps this was his chance to escape. With his frozen limb, no one seemed to be giving him a second glance; all he had to do was just walk out. He looked over the camp and made to exit between the glaciers. He only made it a few steps before a brusque arm was slung around his shoulders. He nearly buckled under the sudden dead weight.

“Ah, some fresh meat from the fight,” a Son of Svanir slurred from his position on Glaw’s shoulder. His breath was heavy with the smell of ale, and the stench of woodsmoke and sweat rose from the matted furs on his shoulder pads. “How’d it go?”

Glaw staggered as the Svanir put most of his weight on him. “Fine,” he managed, “we… pushed back the enemy.”

“Good, good,” the Svanir hummed. The weight was suddenly gone as he righted himself. The heavy presence of his hand was still clamped on Glaw’s shoulder. “S’what I’ve heard. Calls for a bit of celebrating, right?”

Glaw swallowed, and he nodded after a moment’s hesitation. The grip on his shoulder doubled, and the Svanir all but dragged him along. They walked to the opposite side of where the charr had gone. Sons of Svanir milled about the tents, and there was clear tension in the air whenever an outsider, be it charr or icebrood beast, intruded in their personal space. Glaw got the feeling that while Bangar and Ryland controlled the Frost Legion, they didn’t have a good grip on the Svanir in their midst.

They approached a campfire, and the Svanir pushed Glaw down onto a log beside it. The other Svanir gathered around blaze looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. His new overbearing companion sat down beside him with a puff of breath.

“This one just came from the fight, and lived to tell the tale,” he announced.

One of the Svanir pierced Glaw with an intrigued stare. “You new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen your face before.”

Glaw ran his tongue over his lips. “Not exactly,” he fibbed, “I came from a different camp, but they all got wiped out in the fight.”

The Svanir questioning him snorted. “’Least they got to have a fight. Damn charr have had us planting our asses here since we got here. They don’t trust us enough to go out and fight.”

Glaw only hummed. He raked his eyes over the five Svanir gathered around the fire. He probably stuck out a bit like a sore thumb, dressed in finer linens instead of fur and plate metal. The Svanir didn’t seem to mind it, probably thanks to the booze clouding their thoughts. That, and the rancor they directed at the charr rather than him.

It felt like he was back in the Svanir’s camp back in Bjora Marches. The raucous laughter, the loud tones and crude language. The memory made Glaw straighten his shoulders, try to appear bigger, stronger. Weakness was picked on within the Svanir, exploited for their own amusement. For now, they were treating him with camaraderie, even without Jormag’s blessing this time.  The Svanir around the fire didn’t seem to notice the rapid-fire thoughts running through his head nor the subtle twitches of his face. Glaw worried at his lip with his teeth and spread open his right palm. The icy hand glittered with orange and blue fractals in the firelight. Already, the cracks that he had felt open from the battle were closed. If anything, the bulk of the corruption seemed bigger, and more jagged spines of ice coated the arm.

An elbow jostled Glaw in the side, and a pained hiss slipped from between his teeth as it hit a bruise. “Favored by the Dragon, eh?” his companion said. 

Again, Glaw gave a hum of assent. He clenched his fist. Some of the shock from awakening behind enemy lines was wearing off, and he remembered to subtly pat himself down. His pack of belongings was still back at the Union base camp. His sword was clasped at his hip; he had awoken with it in his hand and, at some point on the journey to the Frost Legion camp, sheathed it. One of the knives he had strapped to his leg was missing, probably lost in the mud and melting ice back on the battlefield.

He sighed beneath his breath and placed his head in his hands. For a moment, he forgot the need for strength among his belligerent companions, and he ran his hands through his mussed and messy hair. The pale strands, almost turned brown with mud, slicked down against his scalp under his touch. Glaw grimaced and wiped the tacky earth off on the log beneath him.

He started a little as someone thrusted a stein at him. The Svanir offering the ale was looking at him with a lopsided grin, clearly already a few drinks in. Glaw considered declining the drink, but the Svanir fixed him with a steady stare despite the drunkenness. “C’mon, after a fight like that, you look like you could use it.” He punctuated the words by jostling the stein. 

Slowly, Glaw accepted the stein, and a raucous cheer passed between the Svanir gathered around the fire. The ale was a far cry from being good; it was bitter, and the froth nearly went up Glaw’s nose a few times when his companions nudged and jostled him. The alcohol in the stein went down, regardless, and the aching pain from Glaw’s bruises numbed in response.

Weariness was pulling at him, and between the fire and the alcohol, he was willing to put off formulating an escape plan for one night. The Svanir didn’t suspect anything, and so long as no one who knew his face found him, he would be alright for the time being. The stein eventually emptied, and it was pried from his grasp to be replaced with a brimming one. At least for now, he was safe, as safe as he could be in a camp full of enemies. It certainly wasn’t the first time; if anything, it was becoming a pattern.

Glaw woke with a splitting headache. The night before, he had made sure not to lose himself. He walked the fine line between tipsy and inebriated. Still, though, it had obviously been a while since he’d drunk with Svanir, and their liquor wasn’t kind on the head.

Groaning under his breath, Glaw pushed himself off the cot. That part was fuzzy. Somehow, he had procured sleeping arrangements. A quick glance around told him that it was likely due to the Son of Svanir he had been drinking with. In the barrack, the five were out cold and snoring loudly. Glaw swallowed down a wave of nausea as he stood. The biting early morning air helped a bit. It had also been a while since he had been this cold. He found the temperature didn’t bother him quite as much as it once had.

Glaw looked at the five Svanir and quietly crept out of the tent. The day was just breaching dawn. The sun was meager and watery, mostly hidden behind the towering glacier and mountain walls that protected the encampment. Nevertheless, Glaw raised his hand against the sudden light. He spied a barrel of open water at the tent’s corner, and he stumbled over to the barrel. The frigid water stung his left palm as he plunged his hands into it. He gave a sputtering gasp as he threw the water over his face. The droplets fell like little diamonds from his sodden hair. A few of the rivulets were muddied, a testament to his still-dirty state. Glaw wrinkled his nose. He doubted the Sons of Svanir believed in bathing much.

The camp was quiet around him, at least on the Svanir side. Glaw spied a few guards milling around with bored expressions, but other than that, there was hardly anyone awake. Glaw pushed away from the barrel. This was his chance.

He didn’t make it past the first guard before a gruff voice barked at him. “Up already?” The guard watched Glaw with a wary eye. Glaw didn’t have a chance to get a word in before the guard carried on. “If you’re that eager, there’s a call for a patrol. Something must be happening, the cats are finally trusting us.”

Glaw opened his mouth.

“Go on,” the guard said with a bored wave of his hand. His stare was hawkish, though. Glaw squared his shoulders. He hadn’t thought escaping the camp would be easy, but he didn’t think it would be this hard. Sighing out his nose, Glaw started in the direction the guard gestured. He found a group of Svanir and a few icebrood wolves gathered at the edge of the camp, at the foot of the glacier. The icebrood wolves growled softly at Glaw. Glaw almost growled back before he caught himself.

“Let’s get going,” the leader of the group said. His gaze flickered to Glaw for a moment. It dropped away, and the patrol walked down the path worn beside the glacier. Glaw fell in line beside another Svanir. He kept his head down, the nape of his neck prickling with unease.

The Svanir beside him stayed in his peripheral, and Glaw did a double take as he caught the Svanir’s face. Glaw stared at his neighbor, unable to keep his eyes from growing owlish. The Svanir raised a brow before the expression turned to one of confusion. And then recognition.

“I know you,” the Svanir said slowly.

“I-- _ Nelena…? _ ” Glaw breathed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added the Graphic Depictions of Violence to the fic, so be warned with that for this chapter

The former-merchant’s face was marred with Jormag’s corruption. A crown of ice crystals ridged her brow, and deadened gray skin glittered like permafrost across her right cheek and down her neck. Her posture was hunched with the mass of ice mounted on her left shoulder. At Glaw’s tone, she tilted her head.

“You… the Dragon spoke of you. We’ve met before… You, you’re the reason I’m like this.” Nelena’s voice scratched its way up her throat.

Guilt lurched like an unruly eel in Glaw’s stomach, and the nausea he had tamped down resurged with a vengeance. The blood drained from his face as he recalled the burning campsite and Balur’s charred corpse.

“I must thank you, friend.”

Glaw’s head whipped up in surprise.

“The Dragon told me that without your help, I never would have been taken by them. Loved by them.” Nelena rambled on, reverence clear in her voice. Suddenly, she stopped, and her dark eyes pierced Glaw with an intelligent intensity. “But… why are you here? The Dragon also told me of your betrayal. Why would you betray them?”

Glaw’s tongue was heavy in his mouth. His thoughts raced. “I’ve been working as a double agent. Getting the enemies to trust me so I can destroy them from the inside.”

It should have tasted like a lie. But it didn’t. That had been Glaw’s original objective, one he had clung to for so long, even unconsciously so after Balur’s death and Nelena’s kidnapping.

A light of understanding entered Nelena’s eyes. “Ah, you are as crafty as the Dragon said.”

“Did the Dragon speak of me often?” Glaw asked hesitantly.

“Before, yes,” Nelena said as she studied the glinting ice on her clawed hand, “before I let Jormag in, yes, they spoke of you often. Fondly, and with deep sadness. They whispered stories of you to me as they made me strong.”

Glaw clamped his mouth shut, unsure of what to say. He curled his icy fist into a ball. The wallowing of guilt still sat like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. Nelena was still focused on the corruption lacing up her arm as Glaw studied her. This was his fault; he never should have approached the merchants. If he hadn’t, Balur would still be alive and Nelena would, well… be free. He swallowed and bowed his head.

The patrol marched on, oblivious to his swirling thoughts. The shallow morning light stretched on into the approaching noon, and Glaw saw just how extensive the camp stretched. In the far off distance back towards the bridge, he could make out the frosty tips of coniferous trees amidst the glacial walls. The patrol dragged him even deeper into the icy heart of the territory, going up into the mountain until the air grew thin. A shrill wind whipped around Glaw’s legs. His muscles ached by the time they began the march back to the camp.

The rest of the day stretched on. Any spare moment Glaw had, he spent plotting a way to escape. The idea proved much more difficult in practice. There were too many watchful eyes to slip out of the glacial entrance, and his Svanir companions kept pulling him away to brawl or regale them with tales of the battlefield. His tongue soon grew as tired as his body. When night came, he crashed back into the Svanir bunk with a groan and was out like a light. Whispering shadows tormented him in his dreams.

Despite his attempts to just disappear the following morning, someone always found him and dragged him off to do something useful. He quickly found out that the reputation the Sons of Svanir held around the camp; it was not something to speak highly of.

Before he could find a way to excuse himself, he was pulled away to a ‘training session’ by an overeager Svanir. A small family of quaggan huddled in an arena of ice and wilted grass. Glaw watched with bile rising in his throat as the Svanir cut them down with gleeful grins. When the eyes of his companions turned to him, he froze. One quaggan remained, cowering in the dirt with whimpering coos.

_ I’m sorry,  _ Glaw thought, and he pressed his eyes shut. He extended his hand, and an icy shard shot out. The quaggan fell silent; Glaw prayed to the Spirits that the death had been painless. He opened his eyes, and his head spun a little when the fallen corpses began to twitch and reanimate with a much more icy exterior.

He couldn’t bring himself to eat for the rest of the day.

The next day went no differently: wake up, put on a grimacing grin to fool the Svanir, force himself to eat, cut down an innocent being in cold blood, watch them be reanimated as a puppet of Jormag, throw up the food he had eaten, sleep.

Another day dripped by.

On the fifth day of being in the camp, Glaw was dragged out on another patrol. He lagged behind the rest of the group, mind split between controlling his ragged breathing and finding a way to slip away. Nelena was a few steps ahead of him. Glaw eyed the back of her head. She seemed to trust him now. She hadn’t even spared a glance back at him the entire time they had been walking, did not expect any knife in her back from him.

Glaw let his steps lag a little more, until there were a few feet of distance between him and the patrol. A little farther and he could slip into the sparse undergrowth and snow, and they would be none the wiser. The snow beneath his feet crunched wetly as he slowed his pace even more. His breath caught in his throat, and his heartbeat quickened.

Before the patrol thought to check on their rear member, he ducked behind a fir tree. The tangled roots gave way into a little hollow, and Glaw slid down into the dip. He fell back against the mud and slush wall and let out the breath he had been holding. Eyes closed, he pricked his ears; the sound of the patrol faded until the wind and snow muffled it completely.

A soundless laugh escaped him, and he dropped his head back against the fir roots. He was free. As soon as his breathing evened and the jittery adrenaline faded, he would begin picking his way out of the Frost Legion encampment. Thankfully, the patrol had pulled him a healthy distance away from the main hustle and bustle.

The raggedness of his breathing finally settled, although his heart still jumped and fluttered like a startled rabbit at each odd creak and moan of the wind in the trees.

Glaw pushed himself out of the safety of the roots and stood to his full height. He peered around the lip of his little hollow. The patrol was nowhere in sight, gone over the next ridge. He hoisted himself out of the hollow.

Around the tree, a limb snapped and snow crunched. In panic, Glaw threw his icy hand up. The knife that had been bound for his throat instead sank hilt-deep in his right shoulder. The cold bite of steel stunned Glaw, and he squawked as he was bodily thrown backwards. He grappled his opponent and dragged them back down into the hollow with him.

He landed heavily against the slushy ground. The breath wheezed out of him, and in his winded state, he was helpless as Nelena’s corrupted face leered over him.  _ “Traitor,” _ she snarled.

Glaw could only cough, hands scrabbling uselessly against her icy bulk. Nelena grabbed the knife hilt and twisted it sharply before pulling it free. It scraped against ice and flesh with a nauseating sound. Hot, slick blood began to flow freely out of the wound.

When Glaw found his voice, he wheezed out, “Nelena… please…”

“The Dragon was right about you,” Nelena hissed, uncaring of Glaw’s breathy pleas, “crafty, yes, but still a traitor.” Nelena pressed the bloodied knife under the curve of Glaw’s chin. The sharp blade nicked the tender flesh, and a rivulet slithered down his neck.

“Nelena… I’m sorry--” Glaw winced as the blade dug a little deeper against his neck. “--I’m sorry about Balur.”

Nelena froze, her expression suddenly hollow.

Glaw took the opportunity. He wrestled the knife out of Nelena’s grip and surged upwards, cracking his head against hers. The icy shards crowning her forehead bit into his skin, leaving angry red indentations across his face.

Nelena fell back. Her expression was still empty. Searching. Glaw crawled over her and positioned the knife over her heart.

“Balur…” she whispered softly. Glaw found her listless eyes. One was almost cloudy from the ice encroaching around the tender skin. Nelena was searching for memories that were no longer there. Glaw knew from experience. The knife in his hand shook.

He swallowed as his stomach flip flopped. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he struck. A breath wheezed from Nelena, and her eyes locked with his in a sudden moment of clarity. Her expression softened, and the light in her eyes died.

Glaw bent over her corpse, trembling. Sticky, warm blood from his wound had made it to the palm of his icy hand. It dripped from his twitching fingers onto Nelena’s clothes. After a moment that felt like eternity, Glaw rocked back on his haunches. His adrenaline was fading fast, and he needed to dress his wound. He backed away from Nelena’s corpse until his back bumped against the fir roots. The touch shocked him out of his stupor, and he pulled himself out of the hollow with greater difficulty than before.

He rolled with little grace out of the hole. A smear of blood painted the snow after him. His head swam a little. Yeah, he needed to dress that fast. First, however, he needed to make some distance. Already, his nose felt clogged with the stench of death, even over the crispness of the snow.

His first few steps were uneven, but he found a mindless rhythm that fell into a lope as he skidded and slid back down towards the general direction of the bridge. He tried to keep a firm hand on his bleeding shoulder, but between the jostling of his step and the shivering of his hand, it was a losing battle.

Eventually, he stopped. Or rather, he tripped over a hidden stone and was sent sprawling. The breath was knocked out of him again, and he just laid in the slushy snow for a moment until he could suck in a lungful of air again properly. He pulled himself up with his good arm, teeth gritted the entire time. Now was as good a time as any to assess the wound, he supposed.

He pulled back the ruined cloth around the wound. Absently, he wondered if the tailor back at the Eye of the North would give him a patch job. The wound was an ugly thing, angry red flesh torn and back-dropped with sullen gray skin where his healthy shoulder met the deadened corruption of his right arm. Most of the blood had dried to a deep crimson-brown, but the fall irritated the wound into oozing dark scarlet once more. And amidst the pain, Glaw could already feel tiny fractals of ice filling the space where flesh had once been, trying to steal more of him. Hot panic swept through Glaw at the thought.

At first, he thought it was his imagination that the air around him grew warmer with his rising panic. He glanced at his left hand, and his panic grew even larger as he saw wisps of flame licking up and down his forearm. He waved his arm through the air, trying to dispel the flames. If anything, they only grew larger. He drew in a shuddering breath and held up his left arm. After a moment, he realized the flames weren’t burning him in the slightest. He twisted his hand in fascination, watching as the little fires undulated across his pale skin.

Glaw concentrated on the fire, pulling at an innateness deep inside him like he did to manipulate ice. The flames on his skin licked a little higher, delighting at the attention. In the same instance, a deep lance of pain wracked up Glaw’s icy arm. The corruption cracked and hissed at the intensifying fire. The pain became almost blinding as the flames grew, and Glaw let go of the concentration. In an instant, the flames vanished.

The pain in Glaw’s right arm abated, and he released a shaky breath. Right, he was supposed to be stopping the bleeding. Unfortunately, any spare cloth or fur he had was back in the Union camp with his pack. Perhaps he could cauterize the wound.

Glaw tore a strip of cloth free from his left sleeve. At this rate, he would have to ask the tailor for a new shirt entirely. The strip wasn’t much, nor was it completely clean, but it would do for cleaning the wound. He dabbed at the oozing flesh, wiping away as much of the blood as he could without irritating it further. The wound went deeper than he thought, and a small seed of worry buried itself in his gut.

He tossed the bloodied scrap of cloth aside and called on the flames again. Little fires lit along his fingers like candles. A throbbing started anew in his corrupted arm. He pushed the ache away and brought his flaming fingers to the wound. He could feel the heat of the fire licking against his skin. He gritted his teeth and coaxed the blaze to burn hotter. Before he could think to talk himself out of it, he plunged his flaming fingers into the wound. He couldn’t choke back the scream of pain that escaped from between his clenched teeth. He pulled his fingers free from the smoking wound and fell back into the snow.

The coldness was comforting, although it was melting all-too-quickly from around his form. Curls of steam arose from his icy arm, and the limb twitched with muscle spasms.

Glaw must have fallen into a doze because he awoke to an alarmed yell. He jerked upright and immediately regretted the action as his shoulder pulled. He shoved down the pain and forced himself to stand. Another shout rang from the hill above him, where he had come from. Where Nelena laid. Someone had found her.

Glaw hissed a curse under his breath and kicked a bit of snow over the scrap of bloody cloth he had discarded. He mussed up the snow as best he could to hide the blood stains and the mold of his form in the slush. Thankfully, the muddy slush didn’t carry tracks as well as freshly-fallen snow did.

He cast a glance at the hill behind him before continuing back towards the bridge. With luck, he would reach the edge of Drizzlewood Coast by midnight. Once he was safe, he could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry Nelena...


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of injury/fever if that kind of stuff squicks you out I guess?

The stars were out in full force by the time the bridge came into sight. The moonlight reflected against the glacial walls which, oddly, looked smaller than they had when Glaw first passed between then. Were they melting?

He moved forward with a staggering step, his good hand clamped over his wounded shoulder like a vice. Cauterizing the wound had kept it from leaking blood, but it still burned like a son of a bitch. His legs were also trembling with each exhausted step. He had to get out of the Frost Legion encampment fast, before his legs saw fit to just dump him where he stood.

Glaw leaned against a tree to brace himself and raked his gaze over the mouth of the bridge. In a dead sprint, he could probably reach it in a minute or less, provided that his feet didn’t trip him again. There were two burly-looking charr and an icebrood giant guarding the bridge, however. He didn’t think he was in any shape to tangle with them. The path leading to the main camp was quiet, so there didn’t seem to be any chance of reinforcements, at least.

Glaw pried his left hand away from the wound, grimacing as it came away crusted with blood. He flexed his stiff fingers. Little ice fractals danced along his fingertips. He had an idea, luck be on his side.

He stepped out of his shelter. Thankfully, the guards were more concerned with forces coming from across the bridge than their own camp. Their backs were to him. Twisting his expression, Glaw thrust out his hand. Ice shot up both the guards’ legs, chaining them to the ground. Shouts of surprise arose from the pair. The icebrood giant turned, unconcerned with the added baggage of ice.

Glaw huffed in mild surprise that the plan had worked and ran. As he neared the giant, it swiped at him. Memories of the giant falling on him in the battle struck Glaw, and he nearly slipped as he dodged under the icy fist. Angry yells and the pounding of his feet on the bridge filled his ears as he pushed forward. His breath heaved raggedly in his chest.

A singular charr stood guard at the other end of the bridge. She turned towards him, rifle barrel raised. Glaw flicked his wrist. Perhaps he was a little too zealous; a coating of ice covered her solid. He sent her an apologetic look as he raced past.

The battlefield beyond was bleak and empty. Glaw slowed, trying to remember how to get back to the United Legions encampment.  _ Go past the secret base, right? _ He sucked in greedy breaths.  _ Just head south. _ He would find a friendly face eventually. He had to.

Glaw finally collapsed into a shallow cave in the rocks. He was just past the battlefield, tucked into the brush and rock piles. His vision was going fuzzy at the edges, and a ringing had taken up residence in his ears. His wound still ached with a dull pain, but more than anything, he just wanted to sleep. He swept a listless eye around his surroundings. It looked safe enough. That thought resounding through his head, his eyes slid shut, and he lost the battle with unconsciousness.

Glaw awoke to a dry mouth, stiff joints, and a fat raindrop hitting him square between the eyes. Outside his meager shelter, the dismal gray sky poured rain down into the forest. Glaw groaned and hauled himself out of the little cave. In the meager light of day, he saw that his shelter was little more than a concave in the rock face. If an enemy patrol had passed him, they would have spotted him instantly. He sent a quick thanks to Snow Leopard for his safekeeping.

It was hard to tell what time of day it was; clouds covered the sky, and any sort of light was watery and limpid. Glaw’s only sense of direction was the fact that he knew the bridge was at the northern boundary of the coast. So all he had to do to go south was go opposite of the bridge. It sounded easy enough.

After he gathered his senses and caught a few raindrops to wet his parched tongue, he began heading deeper south. His gait was staggered; his right side ached if he jostled it too hard. A thick cottony fuzziness still held his head in a vice, too. Sleep had not done much to dispel the fatigue clinging to him. Worryingly, there was no raging hunger plaguing his stomach. He pushed the worry aside. He could figure everything out later. Firstly, he had to get back. Get safe.

The thought rang through his muddled mind like a mantra as he walked. There was little grace in his step. He blundered through ferns and cracked twigs like a clumsy dolyak.

Finally, as Glaw scaled a small ridge, he allowed himself to rest. His fingers twitched with exertion from pulling himself up a steep rock face. His boots were coated in a heavy mud churned up by the still-falling rain. He leveled his unsteady breathing and looked around.

A swath of dark green stretched out where he approximated was southward, but hope sparked in his chest as he made out distant rock spires. Those were above the United Legions camp. He was heading in the right direction, at least.

In his immediate vicinity, there was an almost hand-made structure, a construct of mud and logs. It almost looked like a cabin. Or a cage. Glaw paced around the structure and found the door. He tried the lock, and the rusty thing fell apart in his hands. The door swung open. Whatever it was, no one had come to check on it in quite a long time. The interior was filled with moss and dewy grass. A few red wildflowers weaved in and out of the spaces in the log walls.

Glaw all but sank to the ground inside the little structure. The softness of the moss felt heavenly on his aching body. He groaned as he settled against the wooden wall. He would take a short rest, until his headache abated and his muscles stopped twitching.

On their own, his eyes fluttered shut.

When he opened the again, he could make out the glimmering of stars between the wood log slats of the roof. His mind was slow to catch up with the rest of him as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His back was stiff from the odd position, and his joints cracked as he moved. A crustiness rimmed his eyes. The flesh around his wound felt like it was on fire.

Hissing out a grimace, Glaw pulled his arm forward and poked at the wound. The skin was red and inflamed, and a clear pus oozed from the cauterized flesh inside the wound. Cold dread settled in Glaw stomach. A quick sniff of the wound proved the fear right. A sour smell, however faint, was settled around the ragged entrance. It was infected. He needed to get back to the United Legions camp.

Intention fueling his movements, Glaw pushed himself into a standing position. As he did so, the ground swooped beneath him, and he pitched forward. He caught himself on the opposite wall of the wooden structure. Nausea crawled up his throat, and he pressed his eyes closed until the feeling passed.

When the ground was steady beneath his feet once more, Glaw levered himself off the wall and picked his way out of the structure. Clouds still dotted the skies, but breaks in the dark gray let the twinkling starlight in. A cold breeze blew in from the north, carrying with it the smell of snow.

Glaw shivered despite himself. He fixed his eyes on the distant pillars of rock jutting from the forest and started walking.

By the time dawn broke, the rocks were closer. About halfway, if Glaw was to guess. It was hard to gauge the distance, though, especially since if he peered too hard, spots danced before his eyes. It was also becoming harder to discern the rock pillars from the treeline. The ground was descending in a gentle slope, and his only landmark was being swallowed up by the towering forest. The only thing he could do was keep on walking.

It must have been nearing noon when he finally saw someone else. He was about to call out to them in relief before he noticed the Dominion insignia patched onto the soldiers’ sleeves. So there was still Dominion control out in the forest. Maybe his allies had been pushed back farther than he had originally thought. Glaw’s heart raced in a spurt of panic at the thought of the United Legions camp no longer being there. What if they had been forced to retreat from the forest completely?

Glaw waved away the niggling worry. No, they had to still be there. He couldn’t afford negative thoughts right now. He waited until the Dominion patrol passed before continuing on.

Fine sweat beaded on Glaw’s brow as he walked, and some sensible, quiet part of his brain told him a fever had set in. Despite the chill of the air, his skin felt uncomfortably hot and far too tight, and even the fabric of his clothing felt chafing. When he stumbled across a stream, he finally remembered to drink water. The water didn’t stay down long, however.

A splitting headache made itself a home in his head, and the only thing that told him he was still walking, still moving forward, was the rhythmic thudding against his skull as his heavy boots struck the ground in another staggering step.

He wasn’t even sure he was going south anymore.

Relief nearly knocked him off his feet when he crested a ridge and saw the monolithic stone pillars before him. If his tongue hadn’t been plastered to the bottom of his mouth, Glaw would have cried out in joy. He settled for a weak noise in the back of his throat. In his haste and unsteadiness, he nearly toppled down the last hillside, but he kept his footing beneath him.

His legs trembled at the thought of being able to rest. He just had a little farther to go.

He was stopped by the muzzle of an Iron Legion gun as soon as he stepped through the root tunnel leading into the camp. The guard said something, and it took a moment to register. Glaw put up his hands, a spike of adrenaline clearing some of the fog in his head. He stared at the guard in confusion as he muttered something to his companion about Svanir.

Did they think he was a Son of Svanir? A chill crept down Glaw’s spine at the thought. Or maybe it was a drop of cold sweat. He swallowed and willed his tongue to stir, begged his absent thoughts to formulate into an excuse or some sign of proof that he was on their side.

“I asked where the hell you think you’re going, freak,” the guard growled. The muzzle of the gun pressed against Glaw’s sternum. Glaw closed his eyes and swallowed with a dry throat.

Pain and stars exploded across Glaw’s vision as the butt of the gun connected with his brow. Glaw fell like a sack of rocks, his legs crumpling beneath him. He gasped a wheezy breath and brushed a trembling hand over the growing knob on his forehead.

“Hey. Hey! Stand down, soldier!” A voice cut through the ringing in Glaw’s ears like a lance. When the voice sounded, sharp and cutting again, it was definitely closer. “I said stand down, you idiot.” There was the hollow thunk as a weapon hit the muddied ground. Hazely, Glaw recognized the voice. Jolla…

“Glaw!” A deeper bark called out. A pair of meaty paws gripped Glaw’s shoulders suddenly; he went to fight them off. The owner quelled his defense with ease. Glaw blinked in confusion and raised his head. He blinked again and made out Brulas crouched in front of him. The charr broke into a lopsided grin. “Hey, buddy. Shit, they were all saying you were dead. You proved them wrong, eh?”

Glaw nodded dumbly. If it weren’t for Brulas’ steady touch, he would have swayed at the movement. Brulas’ brow furrowed in concern. “You really do look like shit, though. Hey, buddy. Glaw?”

Glaw’s eyes fluttered shut again as Brulas roughly patted his cheek. The charr’s touch felt so nice and warm, and his fur felt soft even to Glaw’s fevered skin. He was safe. He had made it back to camp. He could rest.

A tension left his body, and Glaw slumped against Brulas. The charr called out, but the noise was muffled as a serene darkness swallowed Glaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter than usual, but don't want to break the natural flow, and this felt like a good ending for it.


	26. Chapter 26

Consciousness came slowly, and it hurt. Glaw let a wheeze whistle between his teeth as the faceless dreams that had been haunting his sleep faded. He stirred and found himself laid out in a makeshift bed piled with heavy blankets. For what it was worth, it was quite comfortable if not a bit of déjà vu. The all-encompassing walls, molded with their moss, lichen, and crumbling stone, loomed overhead. The fog of sleep cleared a little more as Glaw realized he was in the Hall of Monuments.

_How long had he been out?_

The familiar dread prickled the fingertips of his good hand as he pulled the heavy blanket away from his icy arm; the limb was the same as he remembered it, although the heat of the blankets was making his arm itch uncomfortably. His right shoulder was wound tight in white bandages, and there were a few similar bandages on his face. His cheek pulled against stitches as he grimaced.

A gentle snore interrupted his bleary self discovery. Slumped in a chair beside his bedside, socked feet propped up on the mattress, was Bryn. Her head rested at an awkward angle, and her mouth was ajar. Another crackling snore escaped her.

Glaw couldn’t resist a smile at the scene, committing it to memory. With great effort, he nudged her foot. His movements felt leaden. The current snore cut off, and Bryn’s head fell forward as her foot slipped off the bed. She lurched back up into a sitting position and rubbed at her eyes. Her gaze settled on Glaw, and relief loosened the furrows in her brow. “You’re awake!”

Glaw tried to speak, but his voice rasped in his dry throat. He settled for a noncommittal sound.

“Hold on.” Bryn stood. “I’ll go get some water.”

Glaw followed her with his eyes until she disappeared around a corner. Into the central chamber of the Hall, he presumed. The chamber he was in didn’t look familiar; it must have been an offshoot. He reclined back into the pillow, a feeling of unease swirling in his gut. The empty air suddenly felt oppressive. Glaw roused his left arm and massaged the bridge of his nose. Bruises and small cuts burned under his rough touch. He probably looked like hell warmed over.

Drifting words warned Glaw to the return of Bryn. He peeled his hand away from his face in time to see her round the corner, talking to someone out of view. She walked back into the room with a pitcher under her arm and a platter of food balanced between her hands. Braham dogged her heels, but he hung back as Bryn approached Glaw’s bedside.

Glaw gratefully accepted the cup of water Bryn placed in his hands. He sipped at it, doing his best to ignore the watchful stares both Bryn and Braham had pinned on him. He hid behind the cup until it was empty. He cleared his throat experimentally, both to test his voice and to invite someone to speak. Both Bryn and Braham leapt at the chance.

“Glaw--”

“You--”

Blinking hard, Glaw looked between the pair. “Slow down,” he joked raspily, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something flashed over Bryn’s normally-jovial face, and she sat back down heavily in the chair beside the bed. She twisted her hands in her lap. “I thought I almost lost you again. Word came back of the United Legion’s retreat, and they said they had lost you at Wolf’s Crossing.” Her voice cracked, sounding wet. “I thought you were dead.” She lowered her head and swiped at her eyes. Once she regained her composure, she set the platter of food at Glaw’s elbow. “You should eat something. You were hardly keeping anything down when they brought you in, with the fever and all. And you kind of look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Glaw huffed. He eyed the food on the platter. A piece of toast and a half-filled bowl of broth. His stomach remained balefully uninterested. “But I’m not hungry right now.”

“Sari, she fixed you up, did all the handiwork.” Bryn indicated the various bandages. “She said it’s a miracle you survived, between the infection and the fever, and the fact that it looked like you hadn’t eaten properly in a week. Glaw, what _happened_ to you?”

Glaw’s mouth ran dry at the memories of the Frost Legion camp. The continual coldness of the ice, the Svanir’s jeering, the senseless violence, Glaw’s own hand killing innocents, all to ensure his own selfish survival. Glaw swallowed hard. “I had to survive, to get safe,” he croaked out the old mantra that had kept him going, “I fucked up a bit at the end, though.” His good hand found the bandage on his shoulder. Absently, he brushed the rough gauze with his thumb.

The stubborn look on Bryn’s face softened, although a look of sorrow lingered in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She grabbed his left arm, easily pulling it away from the healing wound. With a warm touch, she clasped his hand.

At the foot of the bed, Braham shifted awkwardly. Bryn looked between them, her fingers curling deeper into Glaw’s palm. Her grip relaxed, and she pulled away. Glaw missed the warmth. “I’ll… let you two talk.” She stood, but a hesitant look crossed her face. She worried at her bottom lip. The look of discomfort on his sibling’s face made a knot of discomfort twist in Glaw’s stomach. Finally, Bryn set her shoulders. She started out of the room, but she turned on her heel at the last moment. Her stare, now turned hawkish, flitted between Glaw and Braham. “Make sure Glaw eats something,” she said. With one last look at Glaw, she left.

A silence permeated the small room for a few uncomfortable seconds. Braham still hovered at the foot of the bed, and neither of them made any move.

Glaw bit the bullet, sinking down into the bedding to relieve the tension in his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “For… not telling you the truth.”

“Glaw--”

Glaw ignored him. “It was stupid to trust Jormag, I knew that even from the start. And then when I met you--met all of you, I thought that if I told you the truth, it would shatter everything. I was terrified of losing it all.” Glaw swallowed and huffed an mirthless laugh at the irony. “Turns out it happened anyway.”

Braham’s nose scrunched, and slowly, he made his way over to the chair. He chewed on his words before saying, “The Commander was right.”

Glaw stiffened, watching Braham.

“You weren’t the first person to make mistakes. I’ve done some stupid stuff, too, stuff that I regret. So, I understand.” Glaw searched Braham’s face. Braham looked up as he continued. “You could apologize for nearly dying, though.”

A grin tugged at Glaw’s cheeks. “Mm, that wasn’t really my idea.”

That teased a chuckle from Braham, and Glaw breathed a little easier as the air lightened. The familiar constriction returned when Braham’s own grin faded. “What happened after the fight at Wolf’s Crossing? The Commander said she sent scouts out looking for you and couldn’t find anything.”

Glaw dropped his gaze, instead turning his attention to picking at the fraying threads of his blanket. “The Frost Legion picked me up, thinking I was a Son of Svanir. I did what I had to to survive.” The justification felt cold. Hollow. “I--” His voice caught in his throat as his walk down memory lane brought him to Nelena’s death. “I killed her--Nelena,” he admitted softly, “I didn’t have to--I could have let her live--but I did it anyway.”

Nelena didn’t have to die. When he knocked her back, he could have taken the chance while she was dazed to slip away. If he had, she would still be alive right now. In time, he might have found a way to save her, to bring her back, to get justice against Jormag. Instead, he had struck her down.

It was a mercy killing, he told himself stubbornly. He didn’t have a way to cure her--he didn’t even have a way to cure himself. Leaving her like that would only prolong her suffering. And deep down, he knew he wouldn’t have the stomach to face her like that again if he had left her.

Braham was quiet beside him. Glaw willed him to speak, to say anything. To condemn him or pardon him. The silence stretched on. Growing restless, Glaw sat up. Braham jerked his head up and steadied the platter of food Glaw nearly sent flying as he moved. “Where are you going?” he finally asked.

Glaw didn’t answer. He didn’t know where he was going, just somewhere else than the bed. The blankets and covers felt too hot and smothering. He placed his foot against the cold ground and was surprised when his knee buckled and the floor lurched up to meet him. Braham caught him before he could be acquainted with the floor, and the other norn eased him back onto the bed.

“What part of ‘you’ve been laid out with a fever for three days’ didn’t you understand?” Braham’s tone was laced with anger. Glaw stared on stubbornly, tracing the cracks in the floor with his petulant stare. The platter of food was placed on his lap. The broth had stopped steaming, likely gone cold. “Eat,” Braham ordered.

Rousing his good hand, Glaw picked up the spoon. The utensil shook a bit in his grasp. He tightened his fingers around it until his knuckles bled white. The broth was cold, and it slipped like oil down the back of his throat as he sipped at it. Under Braham’s watchful eyes, Glaw finished the bowl of broth. He picked up the slice of bread. Bits of the crust crumbled off in his hand. He sent a look at Braham. “Do I have to?”

Braham arched an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll tell Bryn.”

Glaw scowled. “That’s dirty.” He took a small bite out of the bread, grimacing as it dragged roughly down the length of his throat. Eating the bread hurt, but eventually it disappeared. And he wouldn’t give Braham the satisfaction, but he felt marginally better afterwards. He set the platter aside and made to stand once more. This time, he tested the surety of his own legs before putting his full weight on them. His muscles still felt weak and twitchy, and the ground swam a little beneath him. He pitched to the side, and Braham steadied him.

“You never listen, do you?” Braham groused as he slung one of Glaw’s arms around his shoulders.

“I try not to,” Glaw hummed. They probably looked like a laughable pair, Glaw trying his damnedest to walk on his own while Braham bore the brunt of his weight. Under Glaw’s instruction, Braham helped Glaw out into the main chamber.

Aurene swung her large head to look at them as they entered.“You are awake,” she said. She sounded surprised, and happy. Her large paws kneaded the ground. She took in the stilted stagger to Glaw’s step and his reliance on Braham, and she rumbled. “But you are still ailing.”

“I’m getting there,” Glaw reassured the dragon as Braham helped him to the lip of the pool. Aurene’s hum echoed around the chamber. It sent a few ripples skittering across the water’s surface. Aurene shifted her head until it was only a foot from Glaw’s own. Glaw sucked in a breath through his teeth despite himself. He knew Aurene was friendly, but her head spanned as wide as a dolyak, and it was covered in glittering crystal scales. She was an Elder Dragon after all; she was intimidating without trying.

Some of the intimidation was broken as Aurene tilted her head, her golden eyes glowing with concerned curiosity. For a moment, Glaw was reminded of Frigg. His good hand itched to reach out and pet her large scaly nose.

“Rest and get well. My champion has things handled,” Aurene said.

“Where is the Commander?” Glaw wondered for the first time since waking.

“She is the one who brought you back, and she stayed with you for a day, but her duties called her away once more.” Aurene’s murmurs rumbled through Glaw’s chest. “I believe your sister and Braham will serve as adequate caretakers.”

Glaw huffed, but an unfamiliar fondness budded in his chest. “I’m sure they will.”

On cue, shuffling boots entered the chamber behind Glaw. “What’s Glaw doing out of bed?” Bryn’s voice rang out sharply, directed at Braham more than Glaw himself.

“You try and keep them in one place.” Braham grumbled from beside Glaw. Bryn soon appeared on his other side. Her glare was disapproving.

“Did Sari teach you that?” Glaw asked Bryn churlishly. He didn’t know Sari well, but he did know that the charr medic was stern and had an excellent disappointed-in-you face. He also knew that she was, oddly, Bryn’s best friend, considering that the two were normally polar opposites.

“You know, you’re not usually this rude,” Bryn huffed, but the strictness of her expression softened. She sat down beside Glaw. Her eyes ran up and down his frame. “Should you be out of bed, though?”

Glaw looked back to Aurene, who had leaned away from the norn trio and was now staring deep into the pool at her feet. “Maybe not, but I couldn’t… I had to be somewhere else,” Glaw answered Bryn, trying to explain the odd feeling that had sat like a heavy lump on his chest while he was confined to the bed.

“Just don’t overexert yourself.”

“Now you’re really starting to sound like Sari.” Glaw teased. Beside him, Braham snorted under his breath. Glaw sent Braham an amused glance. He met the norn’s green gaze, and something warm and yawning curled open beneath his rib cage. A smile crept its way onto his face. Bryn’s angry muttering continued as Glaw relaxed his shoulders. He drew in a deep breath, even if it rasped in his throat still.

The breath turned into a lung-aching cough that made him double over as he choked on the breath. A silvery whisper brushed past his ears, making his hair stand on end.

_‘Dear child,’_ it purred.

Fear shot like a bolt of ice through Glaw’s stomach, and he only barely felt a hand running soothing circles on his back as the coughs subsided. Anxious voices chattered next to his ears, but they were muffled by the blood roaring in his ears.

_‘I’ve missed you.’_


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus begin the spoilers for Jormag Rising!

Metal clashed against metal, sending golden sparks flying through the air. Glaw gritted her teeth and pushed back against the heavier mace crossing her sword. She brought up her right hand to join her left on the hilt. Her icy arm, still weak from her shoulder injury, shook under the force. Even after a week and a half of healing, the closed wound still throbbed if she pushed it too far.

A yell of frustration hissed between Glaw’s clenched teeth as her grip slipped, and the mace pushed her own blade closer to her face. The frustration burned in her chest, and unbidden, licks of orange flame rushed up the length of her sword.

At the appearance of the fire, Braham lurched back, dropping the mace away from the blade. Glaw let her own sword fall, the tip nearly kissing the ground. She rocked back onto her heels and wiped at the sweat beading on her face. Over the edge of her hand, she sent Braham a glare. “What was that for? I almost had it.”

On the sidelines of their little patch of open cobbled yard, Bryn looked up from her book as the clanging sounds of their sparring quieted. Braham glanced between Glaw and the flaming sword. “Sure you did. And since when has that been a thing?”

Glaw twisted the sword in her grasp, watching the fire lap at the dark metal. She hadn’t meant to call on the fire, per se, but she also hadn’t panicked at the sight of it as she had in the past. Her iced limb still tingled whenever she flexed her control over the opposing element, but it no longer ached. “It’s a relatively new development,” she replied.

“New development? Since when?” Bryn called from the sidelines, “You used to torment me with your little fire powers, threatening to singe my eyebrows off.”

Glaw raised a brow, a slight grin curling her lips. “For all I know, you’re just making that up. And maybe you deserved it.”

Bryn snorted and buried her nose back in her book. Glaw watched her sister with fondness for a moment. Turning back to Braham, she swished the sword through the air. The flames dissipated, leaving only the faint smell of candle smoke. “I think the sword helps me tune into it,” she offered as further explanation, “it’s like a tugging in my chest, and then  _ poof _ , fire.”

Braham offered a half nod, still eyeing the blade warily. Glaw sheathed it. The weight of the weapon was now a familiar comfort on her hip; or perhaps it always had been. She plucked at her shirt, wrinkling her nose as the fabric clung to her form, sodden with sweat.

She had found the tailor again after searching for him among the crowds for about a week. He had tutted and tsked at the ruined state of her old clothes, but he had delivered a new pair with only the request that she take better care of them. Glaw wasn’t sure whether  _ daily sparring  _ fell on the spectrum of better or worse care.

Ever since she had been allowed to wander the Hall freely, no longer shadowed by a worried-looking Bryn or Braham, she had requested that one of the two spar with her. She hadn’t heard Jormag’s voice since that day beside the scrying pool, but if she allowed herself to think too deeply on it, the memory of the Dragon’s voice came slipping back down her ears like cold oil. The ferocity and repetition of sparring quieted the whispering of her own thoughts.

“I’m going to go freshen up,” Glaw decided, still picking at her shirt.

“Good idea,” Bryn’s ever-present voice drifted from the side of the sparring area once more, “you smell like a wet dolyak.”

Glaw stuck out her tongue in an act of childishness, but over the lip of the book, she wasn’t sure Bryn saw it. “You’re one to talk,” she said loud enough for Bryn to hear it. She turned on her heel and started back towards the inner hall. Her steps were interrupted by the crackling of a comm coming to life.

‘Braham?’

Even at a distance, Glaw could make out the Commander’s voice on the other end. Braham didn’t waste any time at answering the call, his mace resting forgotten at his side. “Commander?”

‘How are things back at the Eye of the North?’

Braham looked over the mountain courtyard, which was in its usual buzz of Priory researchers and the like. “Fine. Why?”

‘We could use a little back-up up here. How do you feel about a little trip?’

Interest piqued, Glaw padded back towards Braham. “What’s going on, Commander?” she asked once she was in range of the comm.

‘Glaw?’ It was hard to miss the surprise in Rook’s tone. ‘How are you doing?’

“Much better. Ready to be back out in the field,” Glaw said.

Rook was silent on the other end of the line for a moment. A muffled sigh could be heard through the comm before she spoke. ‘The ice barrier beyond Wolf’s Crossing has melted. We have a clear shot into the heart of Jormag’s camp.’

It was Glaw’s turn for a bout of silence. She rolled over the revelation in her head. Her hand curled a little on the pommel of her sword. “We’ll be there soon,” she finally said.

‘Glaw.’ There was a hint of a warning laced in her name.

“Wait up for us,” was all Glaw returned with. She sent Braham a glance and stalked off back to the Hall.

The wind whistled in Glaw’s ears as the coastline of Drizzlewood Coast came into view. Frigg made a rumbling noise beneath her, complaining about the speckling of rain drenching them both. Glaw ran her hand down her mount’s scaled neck, soothing the skyscale. “I know,” she clucked, “I don’t like the rain either.”

Braham was pressed near flush against her back, and she could feel a chuckle run through the other norn. Without taking her eyes off the rapidly-approaching coastline, she swatted at Braham over her shoulder. A few droplets of the offending rain slung off her fingers as she did so, hitting Braham square in the face. Glaw grinned as he sputtered.

The sight of the towering trees and dismally-gray fog made unease curl in the pit of Glaw’s stomach, but something else inside her elated at finally being free of the ancient walls of the Hall of Monuments. The two weeks of recovery had been suffocating. Even with the quiet anxiety making her feel nauseous, Glaw reveled in the feeling of the wind on her face.

She urged Frigg into a downward dive as she spied the Commander, Rytlock, and Crecia among the rocks a little ways from the sandy shore of the river. The skyscale landed in a spray of rainwater and mud flecks. Rytlock grumbled as he skirted back to avoid the mess.

Glaw could feel Rook’s gaze burning into her back as she dismounted Frigg. She ignored the scrutinizing stare, instead wiping a spot of mud from Frigg’s muzzle and tied her to a nearby stump. As she looped the reins around the stump, she heard a muffled conversation arise from her companions. She dawdled a little, reassuring Frigg that she would be back soon,  _ promise this time.  _ Finally, she pushed away from the skyscale and joined the group by Braham’s side. She walked in as Malice--whom she hadn’t spied before--was explaining the plan to clear the beach of Dominion forces.

“--Plant the charges, then detonate them on the far end of the beach,” Malice was saying.

“I think they’ll notice that,” Rytlock said gruffly.

“You’ll be behind their patrols by then. Assuming you don’t get caught.” Malice’s tone didn’t hold much confidence in them. “My agents are in the caves, waiting to help you clear out the remaining ice. Once the path is open, Smodur can get his toys behind enemy lines. I’ll get my agents into position. Good luck.” Bit said, Malice all but melted back into the shadows.

“Alright, we’ll--” Rook said before she noticed the Ash imperator had disappeared, “and she’s gone. Right, let’s take out those cannons.”

“And avoid open conflict while we do so. Rytlock.” Crecia sent Rytlock a pointed glare.

“Did I say anything?” Rytlock growled in return, the tip of this tail twitching.

Crecia shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’ve got the disguise tonics. Just let me know when you’re ready, Commander.”

Rook looked around the little clearing and then down at the beach that was crawling with heavy artillery and Dominion charr. “Drink up, everyone,” she said and extended a hand to Crecia.

Crecia placed a little vial in her palm before distributing similar vials to the rest of their little band. Glaw held the vial she was given up to the light, watching the dark liquid inside swirl with an almost iridescent quality.

“And this is supposed to make us not be caught?” she said speculatively.

“You’d be surprised at how easy it is to fool some people.” Rook’s voice sounded across the clearing, but when Glaw looked at the source of the voice, the Commander’s small frame was replaced by a lithe, gray-colored charr. Glaw blinked in surprise and looked back to the vial. She pulled out the stopper, sent a side glance to Braham, and tipped her head back.

The tonic was bitter, and she grimaced as it ran down the back of her throat. Besides the foul taste, however, it didn’t prickle at her skin or make her hair stand on end like she had imagined it would. She looked down at her hands, and despite the fact that she knew what the tonic did, was surprised when her own hands were substituted by clawed charr paws.

“That’s… disconcerting,” she muttered.

“You get used to it.” The sigh buried in Rook’s tone told of one too many stories. “Crecia, lead the way.”

Crecia started for the beach, and the rest of them fell into step behind her. “Move quickly and quietly. Don’t give anyone a reason to suspect you.”

“This is weird,” Braham’s voice drifted from the back.

“Pipe down,” Crecia hissed, “and keep a low profile. Rytlock.”

“ _ Did I say anything? _ ”

A general hiss to shush echoed around the group, and Rytlock grumbled under his breath. They crept down the beach. A few Dominion soldiers gave them glances, but they looked away when they didn’t see anything interesting. Glaw’s heart beat a little too quickly in her chest, and she fought to keep her fingers--paws--from curling into fists.

Planting the charges on the first cannon went smoothly. At the second, a wary charr approached them, gaze distrustful. She looked cynical as Rook spouted out a hasty lie, but she swallowed it and let them continue on their way with a warning to keep their noses clean.

The third cannon was where everything went to shit. Most of the charges were planted, but a sharp bark rang over the section of the beach as Crecia moved to plant the last charge.

“Hold it!” the approaching charr growled, “I don’t recognize you or your little ‘cubs’. What are you doing here?”

“I… we--” Braham stammered out as the charr stared straight at him.

“HQ needs us to look at the artillery. Some kind of malfunction,” Rook lied smoothly.

The charr crossed his arms, looking between them and the cannon behind them. His eyes narrowed, but a look of nervousness grew on his muzzle. “Right. Can’t afford a malfunction at a critical time like this.” His gaze flashed over their group once more. “Get to it!” he snapped and stalked away.

Glaw watched him cautiously, expecting the charr to turn on his heel and see them for what they were. He kept walking, and the all five of them sagged in relief.

“That was a little too close for comfort…” Rook muttered as she set the last charge.

“That’s the last of them,” Crecia said, beckoning them away from the last cannon. “Let’s get clear.”

“Time to make some noise.” There was palpable glee in Rytlock’s growl.

They slipped away to the far end of the beach. As they stepped out of sight, Rook handed Rytlock the detonator. “I think that’s far enough. Rytlock, care to do the honors?”

Rytlock grinned toothily. “Finally,  _ my  _ turn to blow something up.”

There was a few moments delay before a boom rocked the entire beach. Shouts of alarm arose from the Dominion charr roaming the area, and smoke began to rise from the decimated cannons.

“Do you think they heard that?” Braham asked jokingly.

Rook surveyed the carnage. “Well, if Malice is right, we should be in the clear--”

“Where do you think you’re going, soldiers?”

Glaw whipped her head around. A bulky charr-like figure loomed out of the shadows of the nearby tunnel. Ice swept up his flank in a burst, most of his body sporting Jormag’s corruption. Glaw swallowed thickly, really hoping Rook had a nice lie to absolve them.

“We heard there was a saboteur lurking around. We’re tracking them.” The Commander lied with practiced ease. Even as a charr, her facial expressions gave nothing away.

A stray though pestered Glaw about how many lies Rook had slipped to her.

The icebrood charr sniffed. “Is that the reason for these explosions.”

Rook glanced at the still-smoking beaches. “I’m assuming so,” she said dryly. Glaw stifled a snort; she didn’t need to go blowing their cover.

The icy charr growled lowly, but he didn’t question them further. His own attention was snared by the clamor of the beaches, and he trotted away towards the sight of the devastation, muttering under his breath how no one respected rank anymore.

Glaw blew out a breath and followed Rook and Crecia as the pair led them into the tunnel beyond the beach. As they walked, the effects of the tonic wore off. Glaw flexed her now-again fingers. The tonic had been… interesting.

Once more, they were halted by a gruff charr voice. On instinct, Glaw reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. She relaxed as the charr in question called out a surprised, “Commander, you’re here.”

“You’re one of Malice’s agents,” Crecia said as they walked over to the Ash Legion charr. “What’s the situation up here?”

“Pretty bad,” the Ash Legion charr said bluntly, “Bangar’s Dominion is being converted into the Frost Legion as we speak. Industrial scale corruption.”

“Where?” Rook cut in, “Is there any way to stop it?”

The charr shrugged. “There’s a… garrison, completely made of ice. It’s sitting over some old norn ruins. They’ve got some sort of machine there turning the charr.” He paused a moment. “Jormag is there.”

Stood beside Rook, Glaw stiffened. Rook turned to look at her, her expression unreadable. “Glaw.” Glaw hated the gentleness of her tone. “Did you see anything like this while you were… away?”

Glaw squared her jaw. “The patrols always went far up into the mountains, but it was always too snowy to see anything. The melting ice must have revealed a lot more than we thought.”

Rook hummed and returned her attention back to the Ash Legion charr. “Malice said you’ve a camp farther inside?”

The charr nodded and motioned to the large wall of ice blocking off the rest of the tunnel. “It’s a work in progress. We can’t move anything big in until we clear out this ice. I brought some flamethrowers to do the trick.”

“You brought… flamethrowers?”

The charr shrugged again, throwing the Commander a side eye. “What, have you got a better idea?”

At the question, Rytlock hoisted Sohothin, and Crecia let a small blaze dance on her clawtips. The Ash Legion charr huffed, but a small grin parted his muzzle, growing wider as Rook picked up a flamethrower herself and turned the barrel of it in her grasp.

Glaw pulled at the inkling buried in her chest. The flame was hard to coax out of hiding, not kindled by anger or panic this time. Still, a small fire burst to life on her left hand, and it sputtered in the cold draftiness of the cave. “This should be enough fire power,” she quipped with a grin.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> extra long chapter~

Glaw felt soaked through with melted ice and sweat by the time they reached Malice’s camp, and as soon as they were in, she was out again. Frigg greeted her happily as she returned to the hidden clearing where she had left the skyscale. Frigg’s breath ruffled Glaw’s hair as Glaw untied the reins from the stump.

“Were you that worried, love?” Glaw muttered as she pulled herself into the saddle. Her question earned her a snort of steam from Frigg. Glaw chuckled softly and brushed her hand down Frigg’s neck. She urged the skyscale into the air and back towards the freshly-opened cave.

When she returned to the camp, her companions were nowhere to be seen. She meandered among the Ash Legion soldiers, dragging Frigg behind her, until she finally spotted Crecia poring over a map.

“Crecia,” she greeted the silver charr as she drew near, “where is everyone?”

“Escaping the ire of Smodur and Malice,” Crecia grumbled before looking up. She cast a glance at Frigg behind Glaw and continued, “but the Commander and Braham went north, looking at some norn ruins. They’re up at the end of the cave tunnel.” She pointed up the tunnel leading away from the camp.

Glaw murmured a thanks to Crecia and mounted Frigg again as soon as she was away from the bustling of the camp. Oddly, the air grew warmer as she pushed northward in the tunnel. The rocky walls of the tunnel glowed with orange-yellow light, and Frigg balked back before leaping into the air as the floor suddenly gave away with a crumbling of stone and dirt. A vein of molten rock weaved its way through the cave, and similarly molten beasts waded through the lazy current.

Glaw swallowed and pressed herself against Frigg’s back as the skyscale rose above the heated air. She wrinkled her nose against the stink of sulfur and ash. A few of the molten beasts spied her as she flew over, but the rocks they threw in her direction thudded back into the glowing river without ever nearing her. She was not so lucky against the heat, though. Even in the upper air of the tunnel, her icy limb still began to itch in the hot updrafts, and Glaw urged Frigg to fly faster.

Thankfully, the molten river fell behind them and gave way to a tunnel of rock once more, and then to one of ice. Steam curled off Glaw’s clothing and Frigg’s scales as they glided through the suddenly-chilled cave. A few small holes in the cave’s ceiling let in watery light and drifting snow. Frigg gave a discontented rumble.

The yawning cave seemed to stretch on forever, each bend only revealing another wall of ice and craggy rock. Finally, echoing words reached Glaw’s ears, and a giant rocky door sprang up among the ice. The snow beneath Frigg’s feet crunched as she landed just outside of the circle of pedestals. At their arrival, the chattering stopped, and both Braham and Rook turned to look at Glaw.

“Oh good,” Rook said as Glaw stepped into the circle. Glaw dragged her eyes off the door and to the Commander. “You can help Braham figure out what the Spirits want.”

Glaw raised a brow. “What about you?”

A tired look flashed over Rook’s face, but it was gone so quickly, Glaw almost brushed it off as a trick of the wan light. “Crecia needs me back at the camp. Something about transmitter towers.”

Glaw gave a slow nod, only half understanding what that meant. She watched as Rook mounted her own skyscale. She stared after Asal’s retreating tail until it disappeared around the icy bend. Then she turned to Braham, sending him an inquiring look. “So,” she began, “what’s with this door?”

Since the Commander had left, Braham hadn’t pulled his eyes away from the door in question. “This is where the Spirits first revealed themselves to the norn,” he said in a reverent tone. Glaw blinked and regarded the door with renewed interest. “I can feel them,” Braham continued, “All of them, like the charge in the air before a storm.”

Glaw stilled, stretching her senses out. She felt nothing except the howling of the wind in the cracks in the ice above them. She didn’t even feel Snow Leopard’s presence, and at that realization, she swallowed thickly. At her silence, Braham sent her a glance. She hummed in answer, not wanting to tell him that there was an absence in the chilled air around her.

She walked forward until she was a few feet from the door. She reached a hesitant hand out before touching her palm to the carved stone. It was smooth under her fingertips, and it was almost as cold as the icy walls around them. “So what do the Spirits want?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I tried calling out to them, like I did with Drakkar, but no answer.” Braham’s voice echoed oddly off the cave walls.

Glaw looked up at the door, at the carvings swirling together where the center split. “Jormag is somewhere behind this.”

There was a silence, and the howling of the wind seemed to grow louder. “Yeah,” Braham finally said, “he’s drawing energy off the Spirits’ magic.”

Glaw tapped her fingers against the stone and turned on her heel. She eyed the ring of pedestals. “What about these? What do they do?” She approached the one of the few with a carving perched upon it. Owl. She swept her fingers over the little head of the statue.

“I’m not sure,” Braham admitted.

“So we’ve got nothing.” Glaw sighed and leaned against one of the empty pedestals.

Braham didn’t reply. Instead, Glaw heard the telltale crackle of a comm line opening. “Hey, Commander,” Braham said.

Rook’s out-of-breath voice came through the tiny device. ‘Any luck with our big stone door?’

Glaw watched Braham pace a small circle between the pedestals, his eyes flicking from one to the other. Glaw shifted; she hated feeling useless.

“Well, I can’t speak with Wolf, Bear, Snow Leopard, or Raven.”

At the words, Glaw closed her eyes and searched again for her Spirit or any Spirits’ presence. Once more, she felt nothing but the nip of the cold wind.

“I can feel their magic, but they’re not responding,” Braham pressed on, “It’s not enough to open the door. I think I’ll need to channel the magic from… all the other Spirits.”

Glaw looked up in surprise. Braham hadn’t shared that thought with her. She glanced between Braham and the little depiction of Owl. Would he be able to channel the magic of a Spirit who was no longer present?

‘All of them?’ Rook sounded just as dubious. ‘Even the corrupted ones?’

“Just…” Something ached in Glaw’s chest at hearing Braham sound so lost. “Give me some more time, okay?”

‘Of course.’ The shrill sound of wind on the other end of the comms nearly blotted out Rook’s words. ‘Keep me updated.’ With that, the line closed with another crackle.

Glaw met Braham’s gaze. “So, all of the Spirits; that’s how we’ll beat Bangar,” she murmured.

A muscle worked in Braham’s jaw. “I hope so.”

Glaw hummed and pushed herself off of the pedestal. “Well, let’s figure out how to get these bastards’ attention, then.”

Two hours of searching turned up nothing fruitful, and Glaw was beginning to grow sick of the leering stone door and the icy walls. Her boots were nearly soaked through from kicking the snow around, even if they had worked most of the snow off of the center circle. Even with the continual chill in the air, Glaw had shed her outer tunic at some point during the second hour, strewing it across a sleeping Frigg’s back.

She felt like knocking her head against the stone door as she studied the carvings in it for the fifteenth time. At least that might do something. Maybe if Bryn were here, she would be able to get something else from the carvings in the stone; to Glaw, they just looked like pretty and old shapes. A growl brewed in Glaw’s throat, and she kicked a small pebble across the floor as she turned away from the door. Braham looked up at the clattering noise.

“Any luck?” he asked.

Glaw was also beginning to grow tired of that question. “Take a guess,” she said dryly.

Braham picked himself up off the snowy floor, casting a side glance at the door. “I have an idea,” he said slowly.

Interest piqued, Glaw raised an eyebrow. “But?” she guessed.

“But Smodur’s not going to like it.”

Braham was right about Smodur not liking his plan.

“Again--” Braham placed his hand on the meeting table, trying to speak over Smodur’s grumbling, “look, I’m not saying my idea’s perfect--”

Smodur snorted. “You want to take the Commander and a strike team through the norn ruins under the keep.”

“That’s only part of it,” Braham pressed.

Out of the corner of Glaw’s eye, from where she was hidden in the corner of their little round table meeting, she spied Rook entering the scene. Rook caught her stare and gave her a questioning look. Glaw could only shrug helplessly as the arguing at the table grew louder.

“But if I can get the door open, we can go straight up to Bangar and take him out _before_ he wakes up Jormag.”

“So you’ve not even gotten the door open,” Smodur cut in derisively.

Glaw curled her fingers into her crossed arms as Braham flinched back a bit. She hoped Smodur could feel her gaze burning into him. “Well, not yet--” Braham stammered.

Smodur spoke over him. “We need the Commander with us on the front lines.” He seemed to finally notice Rook’s presence, and his dark eyes zeroed in on her. “I am going to stop Bangar, and you are going to help me.”

To her part, Rook didn’t look phased by the Iron imperator’s vindictive words. She set a withering stare on Smodur, and the charr finally quieted.

“Braham.” Kasmeer’s soft voice was a stark change from Smodur’s. “How close are you to opening the door.”

“Close,” Braham said. Glaw knew that was a bit of a lie, but if Smodur caught wind of it, he would never let them hear the end of it. “The spirits are there, and the carvings says that their magic is what opens the way.”

“But you haven’t been able to talk with them.” Malice was swaying towards Smodur’s side, Glaw could tell. The Ash imperator glanced at her fellow imperator. “Or else they would have opened it already.”

“I--” Braham tried.

“Commander, we can’t wait for this… magic,” Smodur broke in again, “My siege engines are ready; let’s kick in the front door.”

“I’d like to hear Braham out,” Rook finally spoke. Her words belayed a weariness that her face didn’t show. Her amber eyes darted around the table.

“Commander--” Smodur growled. Rook cut him off with a wave of her hand, and Glaw was surprised when the imperator went quiet, if not without another small growl of protest.

“Braham? How do we open that door?”

Braham straightened his shoulders as all the attention fell to him. Even perched behind him, Glaw straightened as well as all of the eyes around the table turned in their direction. “The key is the Spirits of the Wild, I know it. It’s their magic, channeled through the runes around the door,” Braham said, “I’ve been trying to get Wolf, Raven, Bear, and Snow Leopard to answer, but I think they’re keeping their distance.”

“Maybe for good reason,” Smodur muttered under his breath. Glaw shot him another glare. He ignored it.

“Maybe,” Braham acquiesced, “but we haven’t exhausted our options yet.”

What options, Glaw wasn’t sure of. She hoped Braham had figured out something between their time at the door and now, or Smodur was going to laugh them out of the meeting.

“The corrupted Spirits, you mentioned them before,” Rook put in.

Glaw perked her ears. She was beginning to catch on to the string that Braham was chasing. She pushed away from the wall, walking into the light of the table for the first time. “Braham channeled the corrupted Spirits back at the lake with Drakkar. Surely that same magic will open the door,” she said.

Braham nodded. “If the other Spirits won’t answer, maybe they will.”

“Are they still corrupted?” Rytlock asked.

“I can handle it,” Braham said in lieu of an answer. Glaw recalled how difficult it was to convince Eagle, Ox, and Wolverine before, and she wasn’t looking forward to tangling with the ornery Spirits again. She swallowed the grimace that threatened to worm its way onto her face.

“And what do you think of Smodur’s plan?” Rook’s question was directed at Braham.

Braham sent a begrudging look at the Iron imperator. “Don’t get me wrong, Commander, I’m all about kicking the door in and blowing up the place.”

“But?”

“But this is Jormag’s territory. Bangar’s got the advantage.”

From across the table, Efram grunted. “He’s right. No telling what surprises Bangar’s got waiting for us out there.”

“And that’s exactly what Iron trains for.” Smodur swung his heavy head back to Rook. “This is what we do, Commander.”

Rook met his stare for a moment, and an uncomfortable silence settled around the meeting like a stifling cloud. She finally broke it, sweeping her gaze around the table. “And what does everyone else think?”

Murmurs arose from around the table, Efram agreeing with Braham and Rytlock and Kas siding with Smodur. “Crecia?” Rook prodded the Blood Legion tribune who had yet to speak.

“I’ll back whatever you decide, Commander. We need to take Bangar down.”

At Crecia’s response, Rook sighed and leaned against the table. She squared her shoulders. “I think--” She paused, her head rising and eyes searching the upper alcoves of the cave. “What is--?”

The hairs on the back of Glaw’s neck rose, and her heart leapt into her throat as a sudden shot rang out. The table burst into a cacophony, but Glaw watched mutely as Smodur slumped onto the table and then onto the rocky floor. A thin smear of blood followed his fall.

She started as a hand landed on her shoulder, and Rytlock’s bellow rang around the cavern. “Ryland!” Glaw jerked her head up, spying Ryland perched on a rock above with a rifle trained on them.

“We’ve got every exit covered,” Ryland called out, “Drop your weapons.”

In her periphery, Glaw saw Rook in a similar position to Ryland, her bowstring drawn back with an arrow primed and aimed at the tribune. “You drop yours,” she said lowly.

Miffed, Ryland curled his lip. “This isn’t a negotiation!” The sight of the rifle centered on Rook’s chest. Glaw thought back to the sight of Rook being struck down by Bangar’s arrow, and her legs tensed, ready to pull the Commander aside. Crecia beat her to it, yanking the small sylvari down as another shot rang out. Rook’s arrow plinked harmlessly off the rocks just below Ryland.

Heart hammering in her chest, Glaw looked back to the rocky lip. Ryland had disappeared, but several new faces stared back at her.

“Svanir!” Malice barked out, “Heads on a swivel, they’re everywhere!”

Glaw roused herself into action and drew her sword. A few sparks flew from the dark blade as she pulled it from its sheath. She didn’t have much time to center herself before a Svanir sword crossed with hers. She met the Svanir’s cold gaze, a small wriggling of satisfaction growing in her stomach as the Svanir’s eyes widened. “You…” He hissed out.

Glaw bared her teeth in his face. He looked familiar, someone she had patrolled with back in the Frost Legion camp. “Me,” she agreed. She felt a small satisfaction in cutting him down.

She knocked aside the next Svanir that stumbled past her and nearly tripped over another as they slumped dead from an arrow in front of her. She bumped against a shoulder as she righted herself; the touch was familiar and warm. She pressed herself flush against Braham’s back, kicking out the icy knee of a Svanir that got too close.

“You alright?” She barely caught Braham’s shouted words over the din of the fight.

“Doing fine,” she replied through gritted teeth. A blade tip whizzed past her nose, close enough that she could smell the bitter bite of frost on the metal. She bit back a yelp as the same blade wedged itself in her right arm. It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would have, but she wasn’t sure if that was due to the adrenaline nearly making her hands shake, or the ice that coated her arm like a morbid suit of armor. She pulled the offended arm back, yanking the blade from the surprised Svanir’s grasp, and plunged her own sword through his stomach. He gave a gurgling cry before collapsing.

A breath of relief wheezed out of Glaw when no new Svanir came to take the fallen one’s place. Around them, the noise of battle faded until silence reigned save for the drone of panted breathing. Slowly, murmurs began to pass between everyone. “Burn me…” Glaw caught Rytlock’s cursing, “that’s inconvenient.” Rook muttered something in return, but Glaw didn’t hear it as Braham’s shadow fell over her.

“Glaw.”

“Hm?” She hummed and looked up from the carnage strewn around them. Wordlessly, a small look of worry growing on his face, Braham pointed at her right arm. Glaw looked down. “Ah.”

The Svanir’s blade was still wedged into the thick ice of her arm. She tugged at the blade and prised it free with the grinding of ice against steel. Grimacing, she tossed the blade aside and let it fall beside its former owner.

“Are you--” Braham reached out a hand, fingers going for the fresh gouge in Glaw’s icy arm. Glaw jerked back as his fingertips glanced over the ice. They stared at each other over Glaw’s sharp retraction. Glaw drew in a shaky breath. “It’ll be fine.”

“Glaw.” Braham was really getting good at a chastising voice.

“It will be fine,” Glaw said more tersely. She lightened her tone as she leveled her stare with Braham’s own. “Promise. Give it ten minutes and the entire thing will be smoothed over.” As much as Glaw hated the ice’s ability to fill in cracks, it came with its uses.

Braham still looked doubtful, but he let the conversation drop. The attention finally off of her, Glaw looked around at everyone else. She gazed at the pair of Iron Legion soldiers that arrived and hoisted up the body of their dead leader. She couldn’t gauge their expressions as they bent their heads and padded past. As Glaw watched Smodur’s slackened muzzle go by, she couldn’t stir the animosity in her chest that she had felt towards the Iron imperator not ten minutes ago. Only when the pair of Iron soldiers had disappeared from view did the conversation pick up again.

“Who Iron’s second-in-command?” Crecia asked.

“Most likely Mia Kindleshot. Smodur trusted her,” Malice replied, her tone more somber than Glaw had ever heard from the secretive and stoic charr.

“She helped us fight Kralkatorrik at Thunderhead Peaks,” Rook recalled in a soft voice, “Is she here?”

“No, but we’ll find her. Iron needs a leader, more now than ever.”

“There’s no time,” Crecia pressed. “Efram, you worked pretty closely alongside Smodur on the front line. They respect you.”

Efram looked ready to object, but he quieted with a grateful look at Malice as the Ash imperator added, “I’ll help organize the rank and file.”

“What should we do?” Braham’s voice came from Glaw’s elbow.

Crecia and the Commander shared a look. “If you can get that door open before we march, we’ll go with your plan. But that’s as long as we wait,” Crecia said.

“I’ll help, Braham.” Rook walked over to them. “I think this is our best shot at defeating Bangar.”

Crecia muttered something under her breath. Louder, she said, “We’re not just fighting to stop Bangar. We’re fighting for the future of all the charr.”

“We won’t let you down,” Braham reassured her.

Glaw brushed past Braham, heading for Frigg. She could hear Braham and Rook following her, talking between themselves. Despite Braham’s hopeful tone, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled around her since watching Smodur fall. As far as their track record went, there was always an unexpected variable coming to throw a snowball into their plans, and it never led to a good outcome. For now, she held her tongue against her own doubts; Spirits keep them safe.


	29. Chapter 29

Maybe it was a futile wish, but some small part of Glaw had hoped that the door would be open when they returned. It very much was no. Glaw glared up at the offending slat of stone. She uncrossed her arms and walked over to Braham and Rook. The pair were staring at the totems and the empty pedestals.

“So, the door will only open if all of the Spirits are working together…” Rook said, looking between the pedestals and the door.

“The Great Spirits aren’t talking. So, we need the other Spirits to help.” Braham followed the Commander’s gaze. “I can feel them. Hare, Otter, Griffon…”

“And Owl,” Glaw chimed in softly. “We’d probably be better off if she were here. At least we’d have some wisdom.”

“Yeah,” Braham agreed. “Jormag talks of peace, but we won’t forget Owl’s sacrifice.”

Glaw gave a half nod. Her knowledge of Owl was shaky. She had learned most about the Spirit from the Svanir, and they had always regarded Owl as a hindrance, speaking of her with derision and scorn. Her removal from the pantheon had been a great win for Jormag. Glaw was beginning to understand why. The other Spirits were strong and powerful, but without Owl’s wisdom, they were divided.

“It looks like there’s some totems missing. Any idea where they are?” Rook pointed out the empty pedestals.

Before Braham had a chance to speak, a mist coiled from the center of the circle dais. Glaw lurched back as it made to pass right through her. The mist coalesced into a more cohesive form: that of a norn man. The mist’s movements were wispy, leaving behind an after effect as it trailed around the dais. And as soon as it had formed, it dissipated. The fresh smell of snow and cold dew lingered in the air.

“What… was that?” Rook was the first to speak.

“The Spirits, telling us where the missing totems are,” Braham said, excitement growing in his tone. “A shaman came from Hoelbrak and took the totems for Ox, Eagle, and Wolverine. Then he hid them.” Braham’s excitement dimmed a little. “Shame, I guess.”

“And this was… showing us where the totems are?” Glaw guessed.

Rook sighed. “I suppose it’s up to me to go find them, then?”

Braham and Glaw sent the Commander an apologetic look. “The Lesser Spirits don’t know me. I need to prove I’m worthy, like I did with the others,” Braham reasoned.

“I can go with you, Commander,” Glaw offered. She was reluctant to leave Braham up here with three fickle Spirits of the Wild, but the faster they found the totems, the quicker they could stop Bangar.

She wasn’t sure if she was happy or disappointed when Rook waved off her offer. “No need. Stay here. If it’s as difficult as last time, Braham could use all the help he can get.”

Glaw swallowed and met the gaze Rook threw at her. There was something else buried in the Commander’s amber stare. “Are you sure--?”

“Positive.” Rook’s tone was final. She mounted Ace and gave the pair of them a last nod. “Best of luck.”

Glaw muttered a, “likewise,” as Rook flew off back down the cave. Squaring her shoulders, Glaw turned back to Braham. “Right… how do we draw out the Lesser Spirits?”

Braham was rummaging in the snow beside the pedestals, where the drifts piled a little higher. Glaw watched with piquing curiosity as he pulled a half-buried totem from the snow. He brushed it off and lifted it into the watery light. “Maybe this will help?” The little statue of Hare looked a little worse for wear. Braham cleared his throat and spoke to the empty air. “Spirit of Hare! I…” He didn’t get any farther before a small shape limped out from between the cracks of the door.

Glaw blinked at the apparition of Hare. Hare flicked her ears as she noticed Glaw watching, and the Spirit straightened her bowed back, gaining some height. Still, she was barely larger than the pedestals. “I know what you want, Eir’s son,” she said in a slow voice.

“So you’ll help?” Braham asked hopefully.

Hare hummed. Her nose twitched. “No,” she decided and turned to disappear back within the door.

“Wait!” Braham shouted, moving toward the Spirit. “I--we can’t defeat Jormag without  _ every  _ Spirit’s help, even the lesser ones.”

Hare didn’t seem to enjoy being called lesser, but she paused. “I favor survivors, son of Eir,” she said, as if spelling it out, “you have survived just as a delicate flower survives: sheltered and protected. And at the soonest touch of hardship, you wither.”

Braham’s jaw snapped shut and he shrank back from the apparition of Hare. A heat welled in Glaw’s chest, and she stepped forward as well. The anger cooled as Hare’s unblinking eyes turned to her.

“This one, on the other hand,” the Spirit murmured, “this one has survived everything in a harsh winter and more.”

Glaw felt unworthy of the Spirit’s praise. Her survival had been at the expense of others more often than not. The anger in her chest returned. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t survived,” she admitted hotly. She ignored the look Braham threw at her, instead marching past him and crouching until she was level with Hare. Hare drew back with a perturbed look. “Because that survival meant that others  _ didn’t  _ survive. Survival shouldn’t be about stepping on the backs of others so that only the strongest can continue,” Glaw continued in a rush until her chest felt empty, “It should mean teaching those who haven’t suffered as much to protect themselves so that they, too, can survive.”

Drawing in a ragged breath, Glaw glanced at Braham who was still watching her with wide eyes. “And for the record, I think Braham has proven himself a survivor plenty. Not that it should matter.” As the air dissolved into silence after her tirade, Glaw rose and took a step back. A flush colored her cheeks as the extent of what she had said hit her, and she turned her back to Hare.

“Maybe you are right, Hroar’s kin,” Hare finally said. “I may survive if Jormag awakens, but it is not much of an existence if the other Spirits are gone.” Hare’s voice was quiet, but it echoed around the cavernous walls. “I will help. My power is with you, son of Eir.”

Glaw heard the crunching of stone against icy stone as Braham placed the totem back on the ground. She finally turned back towards him as heavy boots in the snow padded towards her. She couldn’t read the expression settled on his face. She braced herself for an accusatory question, or perhaps one of pity. Braham just worked his jaw and gave her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

Glaw bit her tongue, opting to swallow the thought that bubbled to the forefront of her mind:  _ Of course. _ Instead, she looked around the circle. Another half-buried shape peeked from behind a pedestal. “There, it looks like Otter’s totem.” She prised the totem free from the snow, brushing her thumb over the little muzzle of Otter. “How did you get Hare to appear last time--?”

She sputtered and nearly dropped the totem as a snowball smacked her near-dead-center in the face. The crumbling snow slipped down the collar of her tunic. She stared wide-eyed at Braham. The taller norn was struggling and failing to keep a grin from splitting his face. “What the  _ fuck?” _

“I said I’d get you back when you least expected it,” he said innocently.

Glaw blinked. She blinked again and once more before the memory of Braham’s words from nearly two months ago back in the kodan village struck her. “You--!”

She didn’t get to speak the words before another snowball hit her, this time squarely in the chest. She set the totem on a pedestal and held out her hand. “Just remember, you started this,” she warned and willed a snowball to form in the curve of her right palm. It felt strange to craft a weapon of delicate softness rather than a jagged and curved weapon of destruction, but nevertheless, a packed lump of snow grew in her hand. She hefted the ball before lobbing it at Braham. He squawked against the cold as it hit him in the chest.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to wear actual shirts,” Glaw teased and threw another snowball. Braham ducked, narrowly avoiding the projectile as it whizzed over his head.

“Hey!” he protested.

Glaw couldn’t bite back a laugh as her next throw hit him in the chin. A sudden clump of snow landed on Glaw’s head, and she flailed against the sudden blindness. A soft giggling laugh echoed around the cave. Glaw swiped the powdery snow from her hair, shivering as more fell down her back. When she finally got it clear, she searched the cave. Swirling through the air as gracefully as in water, Otter watched them. The lithe Spirit let out another small laugh, a sound akin to a burbling brook, and twisted in a figure-eight motion.

“It has been too long since there has been joy in these halls,” the Spirit chirped. She regarded the two of them with a tilt of her head. “And I believe it has been longer since the two of you have felt true joy.”

Glaw swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry. She shared a glance with Braham.

“Braham Eirsson, the norn who is prophesized to slay Jormag or be slain while trying. That is a heavy burden to bear.” Otter sounded apologetic. “I recall when you first cracked the Fang of the Serpent.” Her attention turned to Glaw. “And Glaw Hroarkin, the norn who remembers… nothing.” Where her tone with Braham had been sad, with Glaw, she sounded almost chiding. “A life is built on memories, and you have none. What does that make you?”

The elation that had filled Glaw’s chest not two minutes prior now sank like a cold stone until it rocked uneasily in the pit of her stomach. Otter was right; she was not much more than a facsimile of a person, sharing the face of someone else but none of the memories. The only things she knew of her life before Jormag were the flashes the Dragon granted her and the short stories Bryn had had the chance to tell her.

Glaw barely registered as Otter’s gaze left her, returning to Braham. She was too caught up in her own swirling head. The gnawing thoughts that she had tried to keep buried came bubbling up. She finally looked up, several moments later, when Otter said, “You have indeed proven yourself worthy of my boon, Eirsson. Use it well.” The apparition of Otter winked out with a graceful swirl and a flash of light.

When Glaw’s eyes found Braham’s face, he looked as haggard as Glaw felt. “What did Otter want?” Glaw asked once she had roused her tongue.

“She told me I could have her boon if I could catch her. Turns out, she meant in my head.” Braham gave his head a shake. “She gave me a tour down memory lane.”

Glaw grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. At least I remember it, right?” Braham’s laugh was shaky and hollow. He noted Glaw’s absent expression. “That was in bad taste.”

“But it’s true, though.” Glaw hated the way her voice grew strangled. She leaned against the nearest pedestal. “If I… If I somehow can’t get my memories back from Jormag…” She broke off at the prospect. Steeling herself, she continued. “Then what? Who am I then? A norn with no legend? What sort of life is that?” Glaw blinked against the sudden sting of her eyes. She cursed under her breath and wiped at the offending tears. She drew back from Braham’s hand as his touch ghosted over her shoulder. “I’m fine; just stupid thoughts. C’mon, we’ve got another Spirit to wrangle.”

She could feel the unspoken words on Braham’s tongue as he drew in a breath. Her shoulders relaxed as the words never came, though, and he let the topic drop. The tension broke as a comm crackled to life.

‘Braham, I’ve got the second idol. How are things going over there?’

Braham cast another glance at Glaw. Glaw dipped her head and busied herself with finding Griffon’s totem. She absently listened to the conversation.

“Otter Spirit was a little… feisty, but I think everything’s fine now. Just one more to go.”

Rook’s hum filtered through the line. Glaw wondered if she caught the strained note in Braham’s tone. Suddenly, Rytlock’s voice joined the Commander’s. ‘If you really think you can get that door open, Cre and I are coming with.’

‘Efram and the others will hit the front door,’ Crecia added, ‘We’ll go into the ruins. Stop Bangar. Stop the Frost Legion.’

‘And save the charr from turning into Jormag’s personal army. Damn right.’ Rytlock’s growl was more garbled than usual through the comm link.

Glaw mustered a weak smile as she searched. They would stop Bangar; there was still hope, she promised herself.

‘Excellent,’ Rook said, ‘Be back soon. Good luck with the last Spirit.’

“You, too, Commander” The line quieted, and Glaw heard Braham sigh. “Any luck?”

“Ah--” Glaw straightened, pulling up the totem of Griffon as she went. “Yes.” The stone carving sat heavy in her hands as she twisted it. She passed it over to Braham.

“Spirit of Griffon! I, Braham Eirsson, call upon you!”

Silence followed his words. Glaw looked around the cave. Nothing resembling a Spirit jumped out at her.  _ What would they do if Griffon refused to show? _

She stiffened as a shadow seemed to pass over her head, but when she raised her gaze, there was nothing. Her hackles raised as the presence prowled around them. “Do you?” It crooned. The raspy voice stopped in front of Glaw.

The Spirit of Griffon regarded her coolly, head cocked to one side. Heart thundering in her chest, Glaw stared into Griffon’s eyes. The slitted pupils held her gaze, burningly familiar. A haunting constriction of fear wrapped itself around Glaw’s lungs.


	30. Chapter 30

“I can smell your fear,” the Spirit of Griffon said plainly, “on both of you. The air reeks of it.” She settled her piercing gaze on Braham. Glaw dragged in a ragged breath as the Spirit’s attention diverted. She felt caught between the present and the past, the memory of her father’s death and her near-subsequent own rattling around her skull. She wasn’t back on the icy cliffside--she knew that for a fact as Griffon Spirit and Braham’s voices droned on in the background--but the air tasted bitter-cold, and the faint smell of blood wafted past Glaw’s nostrils.

She remembered the screams, of her companions whom she led to their bloody deaths, and her own as her arm was nearly rent from its socket. Griffon’s cold and curious eyes landed on her again, and Glaw felt trapped in place, staring down the golden gaze of Soul’s Ender rather than the Spirit of the Wild. She flinched back as Griffon stepped closer.

“It is not just me you fear, or my children,” Griffon said. A considering look crossed her angular muzzle. “The son of Eir, his fear is simple: failure. He fears he will never be good enough to live up to his mother’s name and legend. To be good enough for the Commander. Or for you.”

Out of the corner of Glaw’s eye, Braham stiffened. His face only drew tighter as Griffon turned back to him. “Wouldn’t you like to know, though, that your dear Glaw fears something more than some bad memories?”

Glaw swallowed, her breath caught in her throat. Her lungs felt choked for air. The taste of copper still lingered on her tongue like a sickly-sweet nausea.

Griffon continued on, unabashed. “They fear that they will be abandoned, left behind once their use has expired or tossed aside once everyone realizes they are not the person that they all remember.” Griffon’s eye flicked back to Glaw for a moment. “And they fear that they really are the monster they see in their reflection.”

Glaw’s icy hand clenched. The smell of ozone began to grow pervasive over the phantom stench of blood. The Spirit of Griffon glanced up as a small bolt of blue lightning arced through the air; she churred, clearly pleased with herself. Glaw could feel Braham’s gaze burning into her.

“And we’re learning to live with those fears.” Braham’s level voice came like a stone through glass, shattering whatever tension had gripped the air. Glaw started and stared at him. He looked from her to the Spirit of Griffon. “Because we have to. And maybe someday we’ll realize they aren’t true.”

The words seemed to throw Griffon for a loop. She digested them, her avian expression growing almost impressed. “Spoken like a true norn, son of Eir. May you turn your fear into courage with which to slay the Dragon. I expect your hunt to be one of great legend, one worthy to grace my ears.” Her form began to fade.

Braham blinked, realizing she was disappearing. “Wait! We need your magic to open the door.”

Griffon’s cold chuckle rang around the icy walls. “You have it, Eirsson.” Griffon spread her wings and rose in a sharp flap, disappearing through a hole in the cave’s ceiling.

As soon as the Spirit left, Glaw’s knees gave out. She sank into the slushy snow coating the floor, staring into space. She drew in a sharp breath, only dimly aware that a cold tear was slowly rolling down her face. The breath turned into a quiet, strangled sob as she let out the anxiety holding her body rigid. She crumpled.

She flinched back as Braham knelt in front of her, hands resting gently on her upper arms. He didn’t pull back this time at her movement, thought; his touch persisted. Glaw’s right arm burned under his palm, her clawed icy fingers curling. She let herself be pulled forward into a tight embrace.

“We’re not going anywhere, Glaw.” Braham’s voice rumbled in his chest. This coaxed a fresh sob from the well of Glaw’s throat. “I’m not leaving.”

They sat knelt in the snow until the knees of Glaw’s pants were soaked through and a numbness was beginning to take up residence in her toes. Glaw sucked in a shaky breath and freed her left hand to swipe at the tear tracks drying on her face. She considered sitting in the embrace for a while longer, to remain in the pocket of comfort, but she knew the others would be arriving soon. She collected her errant thoughts, stilled her still-racing heart to the best of her ability, and extracted herself. She drew in another breath and met Braham’s gaze. “Thank you,” she rasped.

“Of course,” Braham murmured even as a blush began to stain his cheeks. He cleared his throat and stood before offering a hand to Glaw. She took it and pulled herself upright. Their hands remained clasped for a moment too long. Braham noticed and loosened his grip. In a bout of panic, Glaw tightened hers.

“Braham, I--” The words died in her throat as they locked eyes. Confusion swirled in Braham’s green gaze.

_ Fuck it. _

Glaw closed the distance between them. It was a clumsy kiss, their noses knocking in Glaw’s haste and Braham’s surprised eagerness. It was chaste, over in a heartbeat, and redness colored the tips of Glaw’s ears and crept down her neck as she pulled back. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

When they finally found their tongues, they spoke at the same time.

“Sorry, I--”

“I didn’t--”

They broke off and stared at each other. Another second ticked by, and Glaw couldn’t help it. Nervous laughter bubbled in her chest and escaped her agape mouth. Moments later, Braham joined her. They leaned forward as if drawn together by gravity, and they met in the middle. The second kiss was sweeter, and Glaw grinned against Braham’s lips. She broke it but remained close, her forehead pressed to his.

“I didn’t think you would have…” Braham began with hesitation.

“Would have what?” Glaw murmured.

“Would have been interested… in me.”

Glaw pulled back with slight reluctance. She levelled her gaze with Braham. “Who else would I have been interested in?” she asked softly, although not without a hint of teasing.

Braham opened his mouth before closing it again. He settled for a hum, resting his forehead back against hers. Glaw closed her eyes, letting the closeness wash away the rest of the stress and fear that had gripped her minutes before.

They sprang apart as a clattering echoed up the length of the cave, and not two seconds later, Ace landed heavily at the base of the stone circle. A few moments later and Rytlock and Crecia arrived on foot, panting slightly.

A fresh blush lit up Glaw like a candle as Rook eyed their closeness while she dismounted. Noting Glaw and Braham’s expressions, she quirked a brow with a knowing smirk but said nothing. Braham cleared his throat. “Spirits give you any trouble, Commander?” His voice pitched only a little.

Rook dropped her mirthful grin with a hum. “I got turned into an eagle.”

“At least it wasn’t an ox?” Braham offered.

Rook’s expression didn’t waver. “Let’s… just get on with this.” She studied where Owl’s totem sat and placed the three totems she had collected beside it.

“Right.” Braham shifted. He began the spiel that was almost familiar to Glaw’s ears at this point. “Spirits of the Wild, I am Braham Eirsson, norn of prophecy. I ask for your wisdom, so I may enter this sacred place.”

Braham stood there awkwardly for a moment before his shoulders stiffened. Glaw tensed, half-expecting another antagonizing and traumatizing Spirit to emerge and berate them. She wasn’t expecting Braham to begin spouting riddles. He didn’t seem to realize what he was saying, and once the moment passed, he rocked back on his heels. “Whoa.” He blinked and glanced at Rook. “You get all that?”

“I wrote it down,” Crecia chimed from the back.

Rook tilted her head. “Four verses, four errant statues. Let’s give it a shot.” She picked up each totem one by one, considering each. Every so often, she would mutter a verse under her breath. Eventually, Rytlock and Crecia ambled over to help her, Crecia with a journal tucked under her arm.

Glaw roused herself and straightened the totems of the Lesser Spirits on their pedestals. She placed Griffons on last, straightening the statue when it tilted on a partially-broken base. The cold stone eyes of the totem stared back at her, and the simultaneous urge to thank and spite the statue rose in her chest.

She swallowed the feeling and turned back to her companions as Rook let out a triumphant “Aha!” The Commander stepped back from the circle, regarding the now-placed totems. Her brow furrowed. “Braham, you said you’ll need all the other Spirit’s magic to open the door?”

“Right.” Braham looked up from where he was examining the door.

“But the Owl Spirit is dead. How are you going to use its magic?”

Braham considered the question, his eyes skimming the carvings on the door. “Owl was still here when this door was built. Maybe a piece of her magic is still here?”

“Let’s hope it is.”

Rook’s words were nearly muffled by Efram’s sudden booming voice through the comms. ‘Commander! Crecia! We’re ready on the assault. Where are you?’

“Just about ready,” Crecia answered. “Braham, do we have it?”

Braham took a step back from the door. “I think so. We have the Lesser Spirits’ power. Now we just need...” A faint breeze swept through the cave. “Ox. There’s Eagle. And Wolverine! That’s it! That’s--” Braham’s voice broke off in a stutter.

Something new wafted through the chilled air, like biting mint under Glaw’s nose. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Owl… That’s not…” Braham took another step back from the door as it lurched open with the grinding of stone on ice. Something jumped in Glaw’s chest at the look on Braham’s face. “What--what did I do?”

“What did you do?” Rook was equally alarmed at Braham’s tone.

“That magic… it wasn’t just a remnant of Owl’s magic. It  _ was  _ Owl. Jormag corrupted her, so she cut herself off from the Mists,” Braham murmured, and something cold twisted in Glaw’s stomach. “She came here--locked herself away. And I just brought her back. Jormag needed more magic to wake up. Now they have Owl again…”

A silence permeated the chamber as the gravity of Braham’s words sank in. The cold feeling in Glaw’s stomach thickened into nausea. The tingling of her nerves didn’t lessen, and she looked up the yawning passage that laid beyond the open door.

“Efram! Malice!” Rook barked into the comm, “Door’s open. Go now! I repeat--go  _ now! _ ”

Malice’s gravelly voice echoed back through the comms in response.

Braham looked stricken. “Commander, I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

“No time, Braham! You opened the door, now walk through it.” Crecia cut him off, already heading into the tunnel.

Glaw joined Braham’s side. He shared a glance with her and then one with Rook. “Right. The Spirits are counting on us. The world is counting on us.”

Rook placed a hand on his arm as she passed. “And we won’t let them down.”

Glaw watched as they walked farther into the tunnel’s maw, Rytlock tailing the Commander. Braham gave her another glance. “You ready for this?” he asked.

Squaring her shoulders, Glaw stepped over the threshold of the door. The nape of her neck tingled with wariness. “I don’t think we have a choice,” she said. She turned and held out a hand to Braham. A small bloom of joy smothered some of the unease as Braham took it. She looked back up the tunnel and began the ascent to Jormag.

**Author's Note:**

> (my GW2 tumblr is commander-rook for anyone interested)


End file.
